What You Don't Know
by Airplane
Summary: It's become very clear to Eugene that Rapunzel has little to no understanding of amorous affection.
1. Chapter 1

It's become very clear to Eugene that Rapunzel has little to no understanding of amorous affection.

She knows that if she holds Eugene's hand when she's scared he'll rub his thumb across her knuckles and she'll be filled with strength enough to clench her jaw and be brave. She knows from her mother – from Gothel – that you hug someone to say that you love them even though they're plain looking or silly or ask ridiculous questions. She knows that both Gothel back in the tower and now the king and queen kiss her cheek or her forehead to wish her sweet dreams. And she knows from a few stories she read (before Gothel had the inclination to read them more closely) that you should kiss someone on the lips when the sight of them makes your heat pound and your neck feel warm. She knows that when she kisses Eugene it feels like there's this warm joy inside her heart and it bubbles up out to her arms like fireflies dancing on her skin.

Rapunzel kisses like a child would kiss. She puckers her lips and presses them against Eugene's. She'll hold them there for a moment, then pull back and smile. There's usually a smacking noise at the end - mwah - one that really has no necessity to be there, one that she picked up long ago from Gothel. Her kisses are short and simple. They make Eugene feel like he's being tickled just beneath his skin. He knows that they shouldn't really leave him breathless, but they usually do. He knows that they always leave him wanting more.

Rapunzel thinks it's a nice feeling and she enjoys it. But it never occurs to her that there might be something more to it than that.

Eugene knows there's more to it. He knows that there is much, much more and he knows that it's fantastic, and he has this idea that with Rapunzel it would be even more fantastic than usual, but he doesn't know why he thinks that. He also knows that Rapunzel has no idea that there's a whole other world of sensation, and she is perfectly content to leave things as they are. The knowledge of these contradictory facts and the knowledge that there is very little he can do to make them meet somewhere in the middle is driving him crazy.

He could sit her down and explain it to her. He could explain it the same way he explained what a cup cake was, or why you would want to drink a beer even though it tastes "nasty," or why people stare at her when she splashes around in the fountain. He could explain it the way he explained more complex, abstract concepts like honor and moral relativism and unconditional love. The part of his brain controlled by Flynn Rider tells him that he could explain it quite easily by pressing her against a wall and kissing her soundly until she understood.

But that seems wrong, and he can't bring himself to do it, and he can't figure out why.

Maybe it's because she's so innocent. She's so sweet and perfect and he can't bring himself to sully that. It's one of the things that makes her the way she is. It's one of the things he likes about her. But on the other hand _she's so innocent_. Isn't it his job as the dashing, roguish vagabond to steal that innocence away, to fully embrace that part of her, to wrap himself up in it and breathe it in as she gasps and whispers his name in a way she's never whispered anything before?

It could be because she's a princess and if her father found out then his life would be forfeit. But wouldn't it be worth it? And didn't it seem like the king kind of liked him? And would it really have stopped him from trying a month ago? No. That would have been the part that made it dangerous and exciting. He'd had multiple experiences where he met a girl's father as the man barged into the room, shouting and cursing. The girl would yell, "Daddy, no!" and Flynn would grab one boot, pull up his pants, and escape out the nearest window. Good times.

Good times that he does not want to repeat with Rapunzel.

It could be because he actually cares about this girl and he wants to do right by her and he wants to protect her from everyone out there who would do such unspeakable things to her, even if he's included in that group. But that's just stupid. That would imply that he's falling for her and that kind of thing just doesn't happen to Flynn Rider.

He catches himself staring at her during dinner with an absent smile on his face. She's enthusiastically telling her father of her latest discovery that feral cats have claws and are easily startled. She grins and shoves back her sleeve to show off three thin lines that run the length of her forearm. The king laughs and Eugene realizes that he's been staring. He averts his eyes and takes a sip of whatever it is that's being served tonight. When he looks up again he sees the queen watching him. The corner of her mouth quirks and there's far too much understanding in her eyes for Eugene's liking.

The next day Rapunzel's wearing nothing but her corset and her petticoats as she explains to him that she and Pascal can't figure out how the clasps on her dress work. Scowling down at the green, velvet monstrosity that's laid out across her bed, she crosses her arms just below her chest, forcing her breasts to bunch and swell upwards. She pops out a hip and Eugene's fingers twitch at the thought of how that hip would feel if he grasped it.

He clears his throat and easily demonstrates how to latch the hooks and eyes that run down the dress' back. Of course he knows how they work. Buttons, clasps, zippers, ties, you name it and he has at one point figured out how to work it. Most likely he did it while drunk and in the dark.

Rapunzel tries it once and then excitedly practices on three more, her thin fingers running up the hooks like the wings of a moth. With a bit of difficulty, she pulls them all open again, and in a flurry of spinning fabric, she grabs up the dress and throws it over her head. For a moment she's completely obscured in a mass of green, then one hand appears followed by another. She pulls her head out and shoves the dress down to rest on her hips.

She grins up at Eugene, looking far too proud of herself considering that her many layers of skirts are all crumpled together so that the floor length dress barely reaches her knees. "I just learned to do that," she says. "I never used to be able to put a dress on over my head."

Eugene has to help her straighten her skirts, and before he knows it, he's on his knees in front of her, reaching under her dress to smooth one layer of netting after another. He's helped with this kind of thing before - usually after a fling in a broom closet. Usually the girl whose dress he's straightening tries to muffle her giggles and Eugene doesn't help at all by trailing little kisses along her thigh. He notes that Rapunzel has very nice thighs, but he resists the temptation to touch them.

She grins at him as he stands. It's not a come-hither grin or a grin flushed from the tingling proximity of his warm hands. It's a grin of gratitude for a job well done and a grin of triumph for their conquest over the dress.

He takes her by the shoulders and turns her around to provide assistance when it becomes clear that, even though she now knows how they work, she still can't fix all the latches on her back by herself. He marks the elegant column of her neck. It would be so easy to bury his face against the junction of her throat and shoulder or her jaw just below her ear, breathe her in, fill himself with her scent – warm and earthy and womanly. He imagines that if he runs the pads of his fingers along the bare curve of her shoulder blade, he'll be able to feel her shiver. He'll be able to hear her breath catch.

He pulls himself together and buttons up her dress.

A week later the door to his bedroom creeks open in the middle of the night and he sits up, alert in the dark. He's generally a light sleeper, having been on the run and having spent time with people who would stab him in the back just as fast as he would turn on them. Since he moved into the palace the guards have taken to patrolling regularly past his room. Their armor makes them clank as they walk and it wakes him up every time. But this intrusion on his sleep is different.

"Who's there?"

"It's just me."

"Goldie?"

She pads across the floor and slips under the blankets to snuggle up close to him, her skin cold from the evening chill. She presses her face against his bare chest and leaves a damp streak of tears against his flesh. Without thinking, he wraps his arms around her to comfort and warm her through her thin nightgown. The silk bunches as he caresses her back.

"What are you doing here?"

"I had a dream." Her voice is like a whisper, and she sniffs as she holds him tighter.

He's starting to feel a bit more awake now, and starting to realize that there's a certain danger to her being here. Regardless of that, he can't turn her away when she's in need.

"Tell me," he murmurs.

She shivers and hesitates. "I was someplace strange. It was all white. A bright white that stung my eyes. So white that I couldn't tell where the walls were or the ceiling or where they met the floor. There was just nothing. Nothing at all. And I called out for my mother, but she wasn't there. I called out for you, but you… you weren't there either. No one was. Not anyone, and I was all alone."

She didn't specify if his absence was because he was dead or because he had abandoned her. He has a feeling she knows which one it was. Either way it couldn't be pleasant.

"The place was big. It was so big. I felt like I would fly apart so that little pieces of me could fill the space. I was too small and I wanted to be in my tower. My tower would hold me together. It would hold me in. Like a hug."

Eugene's arms tighten around her.

"And then there wasn't a floor anymore. Nothing looked different. Nothing changed. But I was falling. I was falling and falling and I knew that if I had my hair I could throw it and catch myself on something, but I reached for it and it was gone too."

She had lost everything, and it was all his fault. He hadn't asked her what she wanted. He had just ripped everything away. Something tightens inside his chest.

"I'm sorry." He truly is, but the words seem empty.

She pushes closer against him. Her skin has begun to warm.

"For what it's worth," he says, resting his cheek against her hair, "I know it's a bad trade off, but I'm here for you. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

She pulls back and looks up at him, her eyes dancing with tears and starlight in the dark. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Oh!" She shifts upwards and presses her lips to his. He feels that familiar tingle in his arms and the warm coals that light just beneath his navel. But then she's pulled away again to smile, and she shifts back to tuck her head under his chin.

For a moment he stares, blinking at the far wall in the blackness. It takes a moment for him to realize he's not breathing. He swallows and he feels the thick knot of his Adam's apple grind against her temple. The warmth in his navel smolders.

"Uh, Rapunzel?"

She shifts again, giving him a look of curiosity, a look of innocence.

He's going to do it. As much as he fights it and as much as one look from her can turn him into a fumbling idiot, there's no denying that he _wants_ her in a way that makes him think that he's never really understood what it was to want before.

He runs a hand up her spine, over the back of her neck, up to cup the base of her skull and tangle his fingers in her hair. Her face is so small, so delicate that he can reach his thumb to her lips in a caress that tingles with anticipation. Her eyes widen, then flutter, and she purses her lips against the calloused digit.

He holds her tight as he lowers his head to hers. He holds her because after a moment she'll try to pull away, and for this to work he has to hold her still, keep her close. He swears he'll let her go if she struggles. He swears. He'll count to three and he'll release her. He will.

He presses his lips to hers and he pushes away the lightheadedness that follows. He has to be careful, gentle. Controlled. Two heartbeats and she pulls back, only to be held firm by the strong hand against her neck. She sucks in a breath through her nose, causing her chest to swell against his own. But she goes along with it and stays still, waiting and wondering what he's up to and why they're still pressed together like this.

He starts slow, a subtle puckering of his lips, a purposeful movement of his jaw. She's never felt such a thing before, and she quickly mimics him, deciding she likes the caress and the tension in her back and the shallowness of her breath.

His tongue drags across her lower lip. It's firm and damp and it sends a jolt through her so strong that she gasps and jerks away.

The room is deathly still as she stares up at him in shock, one hand covering her mouth. He's trying to control his breathing, he's trying to control the lust burning in his eyes.

"I-" He can't find the words to apologize. He can't clear his throat enough to speak. He's crossed the line, and he knows it, and he's sorry. God, he's sorry.

But the guilt dissipates as he watches her test her lips with the tips of her fingers. It's a tender caress that has him fascinated. The tip of her tongue appears, tentative, enticing as it traces the trail he so recently marked. He thinks his heart may have stopped as he's never in his life seen anything so painfully seductive.

She has that look in her eyes that she gets when she gathers her courage, when she tries something new, when she feels a thrill of novelty, and Eugene holds very, very still as she leans into him and, in hesitant imitation, draws her tongue across his lips.

A deep groan is ripped from his throat. All his logic and reason disappear. There's only her, and open mouth kisses, and hot breath, and the weight of her as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls a leg around his waist. He grabs her tight, just wanting to feel her, to be closer to her. Closer. Closer. These aren't the cool and experiences movements of Flynn, but the passionate groping of Eugene. And he doesn't care.

And suddenly she gets it. It's like the shock she felt when she realized she was the princess - more pleasant, but just as terrifying. The way Eugene looks at her. The meaning of the smolder. The sensation she gets when his hand brushes her skin and when his touch lingers. She understand that now. It's all just leading up to this. To this magnetic feeling in her stomach that begs for her to press against him and has her digging her fingers into the muscles of his back. The feeling that she's on fire as he sucks and nibbles at her neck and runs a hand up her thigh, bunching up her nightgown. The writhing longing as he strokes her back and her side and her waist. The frustration that makes her want to whimper, that coils and tightens in her stomach, because he's not touching her enough and if he shifted just an inch more she knows – _she knows!_ – it will feel _wonderful!_ And after too many frantic heartbeats, his touch finally, determinately slips that last inch-

"Eep!"

She jerks away as a shock snaps through her, her entire body going rigid, her eyes going wide, and he freezes knowing that he didn't cross the line before, but he's definitely crossed it now.

Everything comes to a screeching halt as reality and consequences settle over him like a suffocating fog. He tries not to pant. He tries not to let her feel how strongly his heart is pounding, but her hand is splayed against his chest to keep him away and there's not a chance she can't feel it. He tries not to let the shock and fear and disappointment show on his face.

"I'm sorry," he gasps.

"No, I'm sorry," she whispers.

"Don't be."

For the first time she blushes, and he sighs, the burst of warm air causing her hair to flutter. Cautiously, he pulls her close again, tucking her head under his chin, placing his hands unobtrusively against her back. He works at slowing his breathing. He works at showing her that this is a comforting embrace, and not one of desire, but the tension in his arms and the stiffness of her spine prove that that's a lie.

Eugene lies awake and curses himself for taking advantage. He curses himself because now he wants more.

In his arms Rapunzel can't even think of sleep. Her mind is racing with thoughts of fear and love, of sensation and desire.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Good God! You people really want more of this. On the one hand, I'm humbled that there's so much interest (my wife nearly died laughing when she saw how many people favored this.) On the other hand, we should all be ashamed of ourselves. It just has to be said. Now, if I'm going to continue this, I'm going to do it at my own pace. I'll keep the sexy up, but I'm not writing a lemon this chapter. That wouldn't make any sense. So with that out of the way, let's get this party started.

**Chapter 2**

Eugene and Rapunzel avoid each other over the next few days.

She's avoiding him because every time she sees him, she blushes so badly that she's sure that everyone will know exactly what happened, and she has a suspicion that that would be a bad thing. Eugene is also pretty sure that with the tint of her cheeks everyone in the castle will know something's up, but unlike Rapunzel, he thinks that people will assume much more than the truth.

He's avoiding her because everything she does nowadays makes his blood rush from his head to leave him dizzy and winded and warm. One morning he came across her in the gardens where she had bent to smell a flower. Her ass was tilted towards him, looking perfectly squeezable, and she was humming with pleasure, and Eugene turned on his heel and marched in the other direction. At dinner one night she was presented with a chocolate mousse, and unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on what time of night it is when Eugene thinks about it later) she guessed that she should eat it with her fingers, sucking each digit clean, closing her eyes, and moaning. It was just too much, and he had to excuse himself on the pretext of feeling sick. He went out and took a long walk in the rain.

His reactions are embarrassing and he hopes to God that no one can tell. For this reason he's avoiding the queen as much as possible too. He's absolutely sure at this point that she can read him like a book. He feels really guilty about the whole thing, and he's convinced that Rapunzel must be mad at him for his actions. That's why she's avoiding him. Of course this isn't true at all, but even if there was someone who could tell him that, he most likely wouldn't listen.

He feels especially guilty when he wakes in the night, covered in cold sweat and shaking after dreaming about her.

He dreams that he's rescued her – really rescued her, not her rescuing herself or her rescuing him – and she's just so grateful that she wants to give him something special, she wants to reward him, and she lies back in the grass, open, inviting, perfectly beautiful and in awe of his prowess as a fighter and a protector. She moves beneath him, all the softness of her body molding to fit against him, her rhythm perfectly following his own, and she's warm and wet and tight and welcoming. The sweat on her skin is slick and salty. She purrs, her face buried in his shoulder. "Please, Eugene. More. More." He dreams of how her face would look as she calls out his name, head thrown back, spine arched, lips parted in ecstasy.

He dreams that they're in her tower and he's bound to a chair by her blond hair. She gives him that devilish look that doesn't grace her face nearly often enough - the one she wears when she figures something out and then sets her wicked mind to using the new information mischievously. But in the dream, the look is just sinful, and he'd be rooted in place even without his bonds. She walks towards him, her hips swaying and hypnotizing. She easily slips into his lap to straddle him with a sigh, and slides forward slowly to rub against the entire length of his thighs and finally press against his chest so he can feel the fullness of her breasts. He would do anything for her. Anything at all.

She's leaning so as to be just tantalizingly out of reach of his mouth, and his arms jerk against his restraints wanting to hold her. Fingernails drag across his skin, over his scalp, to fist in his hair and pull his head back so she's just out of reach. She lingers for a moment, her lips just a breath away from his. She smiles seductively and yanks his head back to expose his throat and slowly – so painfully slowly – she drags her lips over his pulse point. She breathes hotly against his ear, whispering that she wants him, torturing him with kisses and touches.

He wakes up panting, and after several deep gasps, he runs a hand through his damp hair and curses.

As it happens, the only person who he can talk to – and he uses the term "person" loosely – is the horse. The horse. The one that hates him. Which is weird because horses don't have feelings so they shouldn't be capable of hatred, and horses can't understand speech so there's no point talking to them. He finds himself sitting on the short wall near the stables after one of his many trips to get some fresh air when Maximus appears.

The horse glares at him.

"Hey," says Eugene.

_I hate you,_ says the horse.

"Riiiiight." He scratches his head and looks up at the sky in an act of forced casualness. His eyes dart back to the horse.

_Glare_.

Eugene sighs. "Look, pal, I'm really not in the mood for this today. I get it. You don't like me because you have no sense of style and no sense of humor. I'm sure It's not your fault, and we can blame it on upbringing. You don't like me. I'm not too fond of you. So can you just spit at me like usual, or whatever you're going to do, and go away?"

The horse narrows his eyes, as if trying to decide what to make of this. He shakes his head with a snort, and sits down. Eugene's never seen a horse sit before. He thinks that Maximus might be broken.

_Stare._

"What?"

_Stare._

"Quit being nosy."

_Snort. Eye roll._

"There's no way I'm talking about this with you of all people."

_Eyebrow lift._ And since when do horses have eyebrows?

"It's nothing, alright? I'm just a little… frustrated."

Maximus jerks his head towards the castle. _With your new life?_ he asks.

"No. But that's not going so great either."

The horse cocks his head to the side. _What is it then?_

Eugene rubs the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, and admits it. "It's Goldie."

The horse blinks at him. _Why?_

"She's just… I'm just…frustrated, you know?"

_Blink_

"…Sexually."

_Glare._

Instead of fearing for his life like he should, Eugene's face splits into a grin. "Hey! Someone around here knows what I'm talking about! Finally. I was starting to wonder. So you got yourself a little filly somewhere, eh, buddy?"

_Glare._

Eugene holds up his hands in a pacifying manner. "Not my business. Got it."

_Snort._

Maximus bats his eyelashes to get the conversation back on track.

"Oh right, Blondie. She's just…" He takes a deep, preparatory breath. "She's driving me crazy. You know when you've got an itch you can't scratch and that itch just gets sexier and sexier until you find yourself talking to a horse?"

_No._

"Well, it's not fun. Let me tell you. And usually I'm not one for self control, especially if I'm in as bad a dry spell as I am right now-"

_Glare._

"- but there's something about her that's different. It's like when she's around all my mojo is just sucked away."

_Good._

"I think I might… I don't know I think I like her a little too much."

_Eyebrow lift._

"A little too much for my own good."

_Eye roll_.

"And her own good too."

_Damned straight, _Maximus says with an enthusiastic nod.

"Thanks, buddy."

_Anytime._

"I just think that… I'm no good for her. I'm going to hurt her."

_That's for sure._

Eugene frowns and lowers his head in a sulk. "It might be better for everyone if I just leave."

Maximus rears up and shoves him, making him tumble backwards off the wall to land awkwardly on his shoulder on the ground. The horse glares over the wall at him and shakes his head with something between irritation and pity.

_Idiot._

Maximus walks off, leaving Eugene in the dirt to question his sanity.

As it happens, Rapunzel seeks advice from a very similar source: a chameleon. It turns out that Pascal doesn't have any suggestions about the tightening of her chest and the flutter of her heart, unless it means that she's ill, which might very well be the case because she seems to have a fever.

Something happened to her and she doesn't quite know what it is. She feels like she's so close to understanding it – so close she can taste it. But she's still not there, just like how Eugene was close to touching that spot on her stomach and she knew he was close to something but she didn't know what. The thought of it has her blushing again. She tentatively presses her hand over the spot he touched. It's sensitive, ticklish almost, but it doesn't make her jump, it doesn't make her gasp, it doesn't send thrills through her body. Strange.

That thrill was terrifying. But it was also wonderful. Maybe now that she's expecting it once, it won't be so shocking in the future. Maybe if they kissed again, she wouldn't have to stop him because she got so frightened. She wants to keep going because she can remember how good it felt and she wants to be able to feel it again, to feel it more. It was good, but scary - just like how talking to Eugene and finding out what's going on will be good, but the knowledge might be frightening. Just like how every new experience she has is like a double edged sword of thrilling joy and thrilling horror.

She wants to keep going to prove she can. Sometimes she just becomes overwhelmed by sensation. It's happened pretty frequently lately. Everything's just too much too fast. She can't take it all in. Sometimes when more than one person is talking or when there is music in the background, she can't understand what people are saying. Once she went into a fabric store and the vibrancy of the colors made her so weak she had to sit down. Once she went to the castle kitchens and the aroma of so many different kinds of baking bread made her cry. Feeling the texture of flower petals or drinking a new kind of tea sometimes makes her tremble. There's too many different things to sense and there's just so much of it. Lately she has been swinging dangerously back and forth between being overly excited and threatening to weep.

Obviously she will have to overcome her sensory overload problems if she wants to feel Eugene touch her again. Maybe they can just take it very slow. She doesn't want to rely on it, but maybe he'll be patient with her and let her cry if she gets overwhelmed. He's been pretty good about letting her cry other times. He's really good at comforting people, even though it seems like he wouldn't be. And he was kind to her the other night when she made him stop.

When Pascal proves to be ignorant of the subject as well, she does the next best thing to asking a reptile: she goes to the library to do some research. Unfortunately, she has no idea where to look or even what to look for. She ruffles through the K volume of the encyclopedia and does not learn anything new about kissing. She reads the entry on hugging in the H volume and doesn't learn anything there either. T for touching is likewise unhelpful, and "feeling tingly" in the Fs doesn't have an entry at all. She makes a frustrated noise and looks down at Pascal for assistance. His eyes roam over the page again, just to see if the entry has appeared in the last few seconds. He looks back up at her and shrugs.

There's no help for it. She's going to have to ask Eugene what this thing that's happening to her is called so she can find a book about it. Or maybe she should just force him to tell her what's going on. He seems to know, and he has been so good at helping her understand other things. He helped her walk in heels that first time when her balance was already off because she had just lost twenty-five dragging pounds off the back of her head, and for the first time she had something on her feet that were more substantial than warm socks in winter. He showed her how to pick a lock, and he told her not to tell anyone that he had taught her, and she had kept that promise. He had even explained more delicate things like why she shouldn't mold a snowman out of her mashed potatoes at dinner. Surely he could help her with this.

But then it hits her. There's someone else she can go to. Someone who's protective enough not to take advantage. Someone candid enough to give her a straight answer. Someone who wouldn't feel embarrassed or confined by modesty. The person who already explained to her that although Tor was a great guy, she should probably steer clear of him because of his opium habit. They then explained what an opiate was.

She gasps and claps her hands together. "I've got it, Pascal!"

She runs from the library, not even bothering to re-shelve the encyclopedias, and searches high and low until she finally finds Eugene lying on his back, staring up at the sky, hidden behind a low wall.

"Eugene!"

"Goldie! How'd you find me?"

"That's not important," she says, her face lit with excitement and triumph. "Can you take me to the Snuggly Duckling? I want to talk to the guys."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Rapunzel is too excited about getting answers to remember to be embarrassed walking next to Eugene. She likes walking with him, and being with him, and holding his hand – none of which she's done in the last few days. She decides that that's a shame, and she's glad she'll know what's happening so things will stop being so complicated and confusing and they can go back to having fun together. Maybe having fun together in the future will involve more kissing. She hopes so. She grins and slips her hand into his. He gives her a reassuring squeeze, feeling immediately more at ease.

Upon entering the Snuggly Duckling, she is instantly greeted with a rowdy cheer, and whisked away so she can hug everyone. She loves the Snuggly Duckling and they love her back. It's so good to have friends! Yay!

The tavern thugs really don't give a shit about Eugene's presence, so he slides up to the bar and orders two mugs of beer and a glass of water. It might turn out that Blondie won't drink her beer, but that just means two for him. The bar tender growls at him and Eugene flashes his most winning smile. This earns him another growl.

Collecting his drinks, he takes a moment to spot Rapunzel (still doing fine) and slips around to an empty booth along the wall. It's under a window, but the glass is so grimy that the light that comes in makes the room look even more distasteful. After a moment, she appears again on the beefy arm of Hookhand, who has gallantly offered to escort her to the bench next to Eugene.

The big man leers at him as he flops onto the bench across the table with a thump. "How's it feel being a kept man, Rider?"

"Better than you're going to feel if you keep asking stupid questions."

Hookhand lets out a bark of laughter, lifts the ale in his hook in salute, and downs half of it. Smacking his lips, he turns to Rapunzel. "What brings you here, girlie?"

Rapunzel grins. "I wanted to ask you about something I don't understand."

"I can try. Not the most eloquent of pretty faces, you know." He leers at Eugene again. Eugene glares back. "What's it that interests you?"

"Kissing!"

Eugene's head snaps towards her. "What?"

Hookhand beams. "Rider's not doing a good enough job explaining it to ya?"

From the table behind them Big Nose shouts, "I'll help!" and dashes over to their table, each of his footsteps causing the floor to tremble. He shoves Hookhand over and squeezes his way into the booth. Crammed side by side, they look simply too big to be allowed.

"Soooo, girlie. What exactly is it ya need? A demonstration from a real man, maybe?"

This cannot be happening to Eugene. He's starting to feel numb and clammy. He would make a break for it, but sitting in the booth like this Rapunzel has him trapped against the wall. He considers slipping under the table, but his pride won't let him. Damned pride. "Rapunzel, we should talk about this someplace else."

"Shut it, Rider," Big Nose shouts. "The lady asked _us_." Eugene doesn't comment that she actually only asked Hookhand. He doesn't think that having only one of the thugs around would make much of a difference in terms of how horribly this is going to go.

"Yeah, and you've had your shot," Hookhand adds.

"Seriously, Rapunzel. Someplace else."

"Quiet. Let her talk. Go on, sweetheart."

"Well," she says, wrapping her hands delicately around her mug and looking up at the ceiling in thought. "I'm not really sure how to ask."

"Straight out's always best, I say!"

"Ok. Well, when I was kissing Eugene the other day, I started to feel all tingly."

"Oh hell." This cannot be happening to Eugene.

The thugs are so pleased they look like they might explode. "Tingly, you say! Then what happened?" No. Definitely not happening.

"Then I started to think – and I don't really know why I think it – but there might be something more than kissing. Something better." She grins and blushes at the thought, her shoulders squeezing together, lifting with glee. "Do you know anything about that?"

The grins slip off both the thugs' faces as they stare at her. Eugene rests his elbow on the table and covers his face in his hand. Maybe if he hides everyone will forget this happened. Maybe the floor will swallow him whole.

The thugs look at each other in confusion, then turn back to the princess. "Girlie," Hookhand starts, leaning forward slightly, his voice slow and low and serious. "Are you saying that you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

Big Nose's mouth drops open. "My God. But you're eighteen. _Eighteen!_"

"Didn't your ma ever explain it?"

Eugene snorts. Lucky Gothel, who didn't have to give the birds and the bees talk because there was no chance (in her mind) that her daughter would ever meet a romantic partner. Rapunzel shakes her head.

"Ouch, Rider," Hookhand says, a look of pity on his face. "I'm sorry, kid."

"Yeah. That's gotta be rough."

Eugene doesn't move. He's still hiding. A massive hand reaches across and pats him on the shoulder, although it feels more like he's being beaten with a bath mat.

"What's wrong?" Rapunzel asks with concern. "You're all acting like someone's died."

"Something has died," Hookhand says knowingly. "Something in Rider's pants."

Rapunzel looks down at Eugene's lap in horror as if expecting to see the outline of a deceased squirrel or a dead dove. Not seeing anything of the sort, she gives him a confused look, puts a comforting hand on his leg (not that she's checking for dead things under the fabric of his pants or anything), then turns back to the thugs. Eugene shoots them a glare between two fingers before burrowing back in his hiding spot. No sarcastic comment can make this better. He takes Rapunzel's hand in his own. That makes it a little better.

Hookhand sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back to give Rapunzel a thoughtful look. "Why haven't you asked Rider about this? He's an experienced man whore, and I'm sure he's the one with the most interest in you knowing."

Rapunzel doesn't know what a man whore is. She files the term away to look it up later in the encyclopedia. "I think he's embarrassed."

The thugs both look at Eugene, his face still hidden behind his hand, the grimace of his mouth just barely visible. "I can see that."

"Why don't you ask yer ma?"

"Well," she shifts uncomfortably, "sometimes I ask her things and then she looks… sad. Not all the time. Sometimes she looks shocked. I don't know. I just thought that this might be a little different than other things and that I should ask someone I'm close to."

It's like a stone has dropped in Eugene's stomach, and at the silence across the table he can tell the thugs are feeling the same kind of discomfort. Rapunzel's relationship with her new mother is fine, all things considered, but it's still stressed. Unlike her new found relationship with her father, her mother is taking over the place of someone else. In Eugene's humble but biased opinion, the queen is a way better person to be related to than Gothel, but Rapunzel loved the old witch regardless of what she did or how things turned out. And the queen is kind and clever and understanding – understanding that the daughter she lost has in many ways grown up without her.

"Alright," Hookhand says slowly. "We'll see what we can do."

"Really?" she asks, trying not to let the excitement show too much. Everyone seems so sober. She wonders why, but then again she's going to find out really soon and that will be great.

"You see," Big Nose says, "when two people love each other very much-"

Hookhand punches him in the arm. "Quit being an idiot. The girl wants the truth."

"It is the truth!" Big Nose punches him back. "Whatever beau the princess finds should love her or he's going to have to answer to me!"

"Yes, of course, that's true for _her_ but not for most people."

"There's no point in making it too complicated for her."

Hookhand grunts and begrudgingly admits, "Fine. You've got a point there."

"Good." Big Nose turns back to Rapunzel. "When a man loves you very much-"

"Yeah, that's better."

"-he'll try to kiss you."

"And you should punch the bastard because he's not good enough for you!"

"That's not helpful, Vladamir. Go away."

Vladamir snorts and continues walking past.

Big Nose clears his throat and continues. "He'll kiss you and then… uh… kiss some more."

Rapunzel nods enthusiastically. She knew this part. "With tongues," she squeals.

This isn't happening to Eugene.

"Right," Big Nose says. Having overcome his initial shock, he's back to trying not to laugh at the poor sap across from him who roped himself into being the princess' boyfriend. "Then the next step is touching above the waist."

"I wouldn't call it a step. It's not like you do one thing, and then move on to the next. Not unless you're really boring."

"It can be boring?" Rapunzel asks, her eyes wide. She can't imagine that being possible.

This outburst raises Eugene's spirits ever so slightly. Not much, but slightly.

The thugs ignore her, already engaged in a debate over the benefits of progressing base by base. Rapunzel doesn't know what they mean by that either.

"-Sure you can hold an ass and a boob at the same time. I'm just saying that you should grab the boob first!"

"What a load of horse shit! You can grab whatever you want at any point during the process. It keeps things interesting."

"Or it makes yer girl surprised and twitchy."

"I've never gotten any complaints!"

"Of course you haven't. You've never touched a woman's ass in your life!"

"Say that again, you goitered piece of filth!"

"Guys?" Rapunzel tries, wanting to avoid a fight before they finish explaining everything. That would be awful.

Eugene decides that he's had just about enough. Flynn Rider would never put up with this. He should kick everyone in the room's ass, then drag Blondie away and tell her about sex with graphic and horrifying demonstrations. Or not. Yeah, definitely not. Maybe they should just slip out while no one is paying attention. He nudges Rapunzel in the side. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

She looks almost betrayed when she looks at him. "But I'm learning."

"You're not going to learn anything from these idiots."

"Who are you calling an idiot?" Hookhand shouts, disengaging his hook from his ale to wave it threateningly in Eugene's direction.

"You two," he snaps. "Seems to me that neither one of you have any style when it comes to pleasuring women. You've got no finesse. No flair. No…" he thinks for a moment before his face slips into a smirk and his voice grows huskier, "_Je ne sais quoi_."

Rapunzel feels her face heating from his words, and then- Oh! Now she understands what that weird voice he uses sometimes means. Wow!

"Alright, smart ass, what would you do next?"

"Depends," Eugene says, covering his complete and utter embarrassment with self aggrandizement, because – honestly – why didn't he think of doing that earlier? Just another sign that he's going soft. "Such things require subtlety. A _delicate touch_."

Rapunzel feels faint. She thinks she might have been better off clueless as to just how attractive Eugene is, because right now she can't think straight. All she can do is picture dragging his face down and kissing him – those long kisses too, the ones that heat her stomach and pull away her breath. He wasn't even looking at her and he's still having the effect of making her want to grab him. She takes a sip of her beer in hopes of cooling the warmth that's washed over her. Instead she is distracted by how bitter the drink is. She makes a face and coughs. How can people drink this stuff?

"That sounds like a whole bunch of fancy talk for how you don't know," Hookhand says.

Eugene shrugs. "I'm just saying that there's no clear cut way to go about things."

"Fine," Big Nose says. "But for the purposes of this discussion-"

"Oh, we're still talking about this?"

"-it's easier to explain above the waist first."

"Whatever," Hookhand grumps.

"Touching above the waist means the stomach, right?" Rapunzel asks. She almost knows about that. She feels briefly proud of herself before remembering that she should feel scared and guilty. She shoots a look at Eugene and he can feel the Flynn mask shielding his flushed, stuttering self start to crack.

"I guess so," says Big Nose, scratching his head as if this has never occurred to him before. (It hasn't.) "But it's mostly about boobs."

"Boobs?" Rapunzel asks.

Eugene is determinedly not looking at her, so he murmurs the word out of the corner of his mouth. "Breasts."

Oh! She shoots a look at Eugene's chest and quickly looks away. There's something about it that she likes. She knows that she herself has smallish breasts because Gothel always told her not to be too upset about their size, so when she first met Eugene she was excited to know that there was someone out there who was flatter than she was. Poor Eugene. Even the unkempt men in front of them have more impressive busts. She wonders if he ever feels self conscious. She hopes not, because there's something about the broad, taut planes of his chest that makes her feel a bit weak.

The men begin to expound upon the many fantastic things about breasts, none of which sound very comfortable to Rapunzel, but the men seem to like it so she pays attention so she can try everything on Eugene later.

"And you can squeeze them-"

"-and suck them –"

"- and bite them. Not too hard, mind you, but… still."

"-and tweak them –"

"I once knew this whore who used to take- Ow! What the hell, Rider? Don't kick me! I'm telling the girlie for your own good." There's a THUMP from under the table and Eugene cringes as Hookhand returns the kick to his shins. Eugene strikes back, hitting Big Nose by mistake, and the three of them collapse into a mad scuffle of kicking legs under the table, ending with Eugene standing up in his seat and climbing over the table to get out. He doesn't make it very far before he's grabbed by three other patrons, who dog pile him as the whole tavern explodes into a brawl.

Eugene is very pleased with himself despite the bloody nose. Bar fights are the best way to end awkward conversations.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"We were just getting to the parts I didn't know," Rapunzel chides as she dabs at Eugene's bleeding head with one of the napkins he lifted from the tavern. She looks slightly intimidating standing over him like this while he sits on a stump in the woods and tries to look a bit more wounded than he is. "Why did you have to go and start a fight with them?"

He winces as she pushes a bit too hard against his cut. "I'm sorry that I had to break up your girl talk, but you were getting into dangerous territory and something had to be done. I don't want you picking up their perverted habits."

She pulls back and frowns down at him, her expression one of confusion bordering on distress. "You don't?"

He blinks at her. "I-" The image of her in a compromising position flashes before his eyes before he shakes it away. "No."

Her shoulders slump and her face falls further. "How am I supposed to make sense of all this if there's no one to explain it to me and there aren't any books in the library?"

"I'm pretty sure there are some books."

"Then where are they?" She stamps her foot at the complete unfairness of it all. "I'm trying, but it's hard, and I'm scared, and no one will help me, and it's just one more thing that I don't know and everybody else does, and they all think I'm stupid and naïve, but I wouldn't be if someone would just tell me!"

"Woah, woah! Calm down, Blondie. It's alright." He reaches for her, but she swats him away to turn and pout. "Hey. It's ok." He stands and reaches again for her shoulder. She allows him to rest his hand there and squeeze, but she's determinedly not going to be happy about it. "If it's really bothering you this much, we'll figure something out. Something that doesn't involve asking the Mauling Wonder and the man with the face only a mother would love, because honestly, Blondie, that was one of your less inspired ideas."

She spins on him and glares. "Don't you call me stupid."

"I never called you stupid."

"And don't make fun of my friends." She emphasizes her words with several sharp pokes to his chest. "At least they were trying to help."

"They were trying to lead you down a path of debauchery."

She pushes up onto her toes to get right in his face. "That's what _you_ say! They thought they were helping, and I've learned to make my own decisions about who to trust when people say they want to help me."

"And you trust them over me?"

"You don't want me to know!"

"Of course I want you to know! I want to be the one to show you!"

"Then do it!"

"Maybe I will!"

"Good!"

"Do you have any idea how hot you are right now?"

"I don't know what that means!"

He's grabbed her before she's even finished her shout, his mouth over hers, hungry and demanding, because she has set him on fire, and she's pressed so close that he can feel all the liquid tension of her body.

She pulls back in outrage, and he blinks at her once before she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him so fiercely that he stumbles and trips and ends up on the ground, sitting with her in his lap while she forces her tongue into his mouth. Her corset is thick and tough, but he can still feel the delicate cage of her ribs in his hands. He can feel the tremble of her flesh, the thinness of her waist, the arch of her back. He pulls his mouth to her neck to suck her pale skin and hold her as she gasps, head tilted perfectly to the side to expose as much skin to him as possible.

He wraps one arm firmly across her back for support as she shivers. It's something solid, something firm. It's her rock as she floats in euphoria. His other hand skates lower, rubbing circles with his thumb, hard enough that she can feel it through her corset. He struggles for breath against her ear, and she shudders at the sensation. "Shh," he breathes. "Relax." She nods shakily and presses closer as his hand moves gently to the spot on her stomach that set her off before.

A small cry escapes from her throat before she muffles it, and he kisses her and whispers to her, words of comfort that she doesn't comprehend because she's lost in the tender movements of his hand and the feeling of flying. His fingers trace upwards, finding new places, each with their own subtle colorations that are too overwhelming for her to tease out at the moment. The back of his hand grazes the underside of her breast and she's startled to realize that the thugs at the tavern were right. It feels different, more, better, she doesn't know, but she knows that she disapproves of his hand running back down her stomach. She is thoroughly convinced that that is the wrong way for him to be heading, even though it still feels wonderful.

The thought reminds her that she isn't doing anything for Eugene. She should be stroking him the same way he's stroking her. She wants him to feel these things and she doesn't want him to be bored. So she pulls his mouth back to hers and kisses him, taking pride and a thrill of pleasure as he groans.

He hisses as one of her hands grazes the cut on his forehead. She jerks away and squeaks an apology, her cheeks flushed prettily, her lips swollen and darkened. "Don't worry," he pants and pulls her back, claiming her mouth, pressing her hand back against his cheek. He lets her hesitant fingers explore his face, trailing the strong line of his jaw, teasing against his stubble before caressing his beard and tipping his chin to alter the position of their kiss. He loves her curiosity. He loves it, and he rewards her by pulling her lower lip into his mouth and sucking, drawing out a prefect little moan.

He lets his hand wander back upwards. He wants her to be pleased with his ministrations rather than startled. He wants her to want it before he touches her. He drags his fingers slowly around the curve beneath her breast, holding her close as she takes a deep breath to press deeper against his touch, which courses back and forth and up and around to finally hold the fullness of her in his palm. The feel of her is perfect because _God!_ she's perfect, and _damn it_ he hates her stupid corset and he hates that he's still wearing his vest because her shaking touch has run down to his chest to mimic his own movements and _fuck!_ she's a fast learner.

The heat between them increases, like strain, like _need_, and she feels as though all that tension is starting to focus on a spot between her legs. She shifts and finds that putting pressure against it helps bring some relief – relief in one sense but also the feeling of coiling tighter. Eugene knows the feeling as without thinking – he no longer has a brain to think with - he takes hold of her hip and eases her into a steady rhythm, guiding her body to rub against his own full arousal. He swears and knots a hand in her hair, pulling her close so he can taste the skin against her collar bone. He's starting to feel numb and shivery, and his insides quiver, the passion building.

And somewhere in her brain she knows that all this rubbing and the movement of her hips is all quite odd, but she doesn't care because it feels so natural, it feels _so good_ to press against whatever resistance is in Eugene's pants.

Wait. What?

_Oh no!_ "Eugene!"

"Huh? Wha-" Why did she stop? What did he do?

In all seriousness, despite her tousled hair and her flushed features, she slowly whispers, "I've found the dead thing in your pants."

It takes a moment for his foggy mind to figure out what the hell she's talking about. He blinks at her. Then he groans and his body slumps. "I'm going to murder them."

"Who?"

"Ugg. The idiot twins."

"Why?"

"Because my cock's not dead. They were just being rude."

"Your cock!"

"Yeah."

"You _do_ have an animal in your pants!"

"What? No!"

"Then what is it?"

"Oh God! Don't touch it!" He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away, breathing far too heavily, and scaring her nearly out of her wits. She sits frozen for a moment as Eugene tries to compose himself.

It takes a while.

"Eugene?" she whispers.

"Yeah, Goldie."

"What is it, and why did you… react that way?"

"Uh… well…" He runs a hand through his hair.

"You said you wanted to be the one to tell me."

"Yeah, but it's uh…"

She takes a deep breath. "Eugene, please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't have time for this. Can you just have Flynn explain it to me?"

"What?"

"Usually you're really good at explaining things, and I like you much better as Eugene, but I think it would be better if Flynn Rider told me about this one."

Eugene doesn't really think it would be better. He's also a little offended, but he's not sure why.

"It's not like we're two different people," he says defensively.

She gives him a look crawling with skepticism.

"Ugg. Fine. That down there is my penis, and it is very much alive as I'm sure you've noticed."

"Penis," she repeats. She has a certain way of saying new words, almost as though she's in awe of them. As though new words are delicate little things that might get frightened and run away. She tries to memorize the name and the feel and the function and file it carefully where she can find it again. "What is it?"

"It's a part of my body."

She gasps. "Like another arm?" She knows that Big Nose has an extra toe, but she never thought that it was possible to grow a whole other appendage. Poor Eugene! He's deformed!

"Well, not really. It's more like a… thumb? No, that's not quite right. Are you sure you've never heard of a penis before."

She nods her head soberly. "Very sure."

He shifts, reclining back a little, thinking for a moment. "Do you know how nuts and bolts work?"

"Yes," she says slowly. "I used to fix the windows in my tower when they got worn out."

"Well, there you go. A man's cock is like a bolt and what you have is like a nut. They fit together, you see."

She stares at him while she processes this. Did that mean that all men had bolts, or was Eugene special in this ability to fit with her like a piece of hardware? Did that mean that he didn't have a nut? She knew there were differences between men and women, obviously. Men were generally taller and had beards and deeper voices. Was there more that she didn't know about? Most likely there was. And why on earth would you want to fit together with someone like that? It doesn't sound very pleasant to have a strange part of someone _inside_ her. But then again, she likes having Eugene's tongue in her mouth, and she hadn't been too excited about the things that the thugs had suggested doing to breasts, and that had turned out to be quite pleasant.

"This is all very strange," she says. It's the only complete thought she can manage.

"Yeah," he says. "No kidding."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It's quite difficult for Rapunzel to find time to research these things. Her tutors are starting to demand more of her and although she spends a great deal of time in the library studying history and literature, ethics and oration, law and philosophy, her tutors are always watching her and which books she's reading. Her busy schedule is such a change from her regular boring routine that she sometimes gets a headache. Sometimes she's so overwhelmed that she feels like crying.

She hasn't had time to work on the half started mural in her room, even though she has brand new paints that she's dying to try. She hasn't even had time to talk much with Eugene or Maximus, although they seem to be handling themselves quite well without her. She started sending notes to them with Pascal as currier. Eugene found this very amusing and they had a funny little back and forth before she was caught by her etiquette instructor and informed that passing notes was not appropriate. Pascal returned from his trip to see Maximus without a response. It turns out that the horse can't read.

It then occurred to her that she could send Pascal to gather the books she wanted, but they turned out to be too large for him to lift, and she couldn't bring herself to be disappointed about it because he was being very sweet for trying.

She finally finds time to pursue her own line of research one late night after most everyone has gone to bed. She sneaks down to the library in her fuzzy, blue robe, carrying a candle and Pascal, avoiding all the guards on their lazy nighttime patrols because she's pretty sure that what she's doing should stay a secret and because she finds that being sneaky is rather exciting. No wonder Eugene likes doing it so much.

Now with some direction to her search, she pulls down three anatomy texts, because she has given up on the encyclopedia ever since it failed to tell her what a whore was. She's about to make herself comfortable in her usual comfy study seat when she hears the guards coming her way. She snuffs out her candle and darts out of the library, down the hall, and away from the clanking patrol. Apparently reading in the library without being discovered is out. So is reading in her room, as she can't think of a place to hide her books that the maids don't know about – they keep her room stunningly tidy, especially considering how she likes to bring in flowers and dirt and paint.

She slips into a dark alcove to plan her next move. "We could go outside," she whispers to Pascal, but she's not enthusiastic about this suggestion and he seems to agree with her about that. "We could go to… Eugene's room! Do you think he'd mind?" The chameleon shakes his head and grins at her. Of course he wouldn't mind. What a fantastic idea!

Her books clutched to her chest, she snakes her way to Eugene's room, dodging the many guards that seem to congregate in the area. She reaches it with a grin, slides to a stop, reaches for the door handle and- and it's _locked_. She trades a confused look with Pascal. Why would Eugene lock his door? It wasn't locked last time. She tries it again just in case it's stuck, but she still doesn't have any luck.

Humpf. Well that just won't do at all. She stows the books behind a statue across from Eugene's door. It's the nude figure of a woman, made of gold, draped with emeralds, and placed there as a test to see if it will be stolen. A quick dash to her room and back and Rapunzel pulls out the lock picking set that Eugene gave her and showed her how to use on the condition that she keep it a secret just between them. She grins as she fiddles with the little rods, clicking the pins into place one by one. The lock snaps open and she's sure that Eugene will be proud. She grabs her books and slips into the room and draws up short, because in front of her stands Eugene, his hands on his hips, looking down at her with an eyebrow cocked as if he's been waiting for her. In retrospect, she hadn't been very quiet about picking the lock.

"You ever hear of knocking, Goldie?"

"I thought you'd be asleep."

"And you wanted to come in here and not to wake me up?"

"Oh," she shifts her weight and furrows her eyebrows together. "I didn't think about that." She looks down at Pascal, who admits that he didn't think about it either.

"Great. So what can I do for you at this ungodly hour?"

"I need a place to read and hide my books so no one finds them. Can I do that here?"

He blinks at her. "Reading?"

"Yes."

"Secret reading."

"Yes."

He considers this for a moment. On the one hand she really shouldn't be slinking into his room in the dead of night, and he is pretty tired. On the other hand he hasn't seen very much of her lately and there's a reason she shouldn't be slinking into his room at night, and that reason is awesome. "Do I have to be awake for this secret reading?"

"No."

"Good." He turns and walks over to the window seat, where he promptly pries off one of the cushions to reveal a compartment already holding three bracelets, a pocket watch, a knife, and the set of clothes he was wearing when he showed up at the castle. "You can store your stuff in here. Just be sure to seal it back up and don't tell anyone or get caught coming in here or I'll be in trouble."

She picks up the pocket watch and gives him a stern look. "Eugene, did you steal this?"

"No. Your dad gave it to me for bringing you home, and if you want to use my hiding place you should stop jumping to conclusions."

"Sorry."

He shrugs, glad that she didn't ask about the bracelets. "Are you going to let me in on the secret of what it is that you're reading?"

She grins and proudly holds up her first book. "Anatomy!" He takes the book from her and flips through it as she looks overly pleased with herself and rocks back on her heels. "You said there were books about it in the library and I've found them."

"Well this wasn't exactly what I-" He catches her look of growing disappointment and quickly changes direction. "But this is much better than what I had in mind. Smart thinking, Blondie." She smirks, which is a different look for her, one that is overly attractive now that he's noticing how her eyes shine in the lantern light and how she's not wearing that horrible corset. His fingers twitch and he wonders if she really needs that anatomy book.

Yes. Yes she does.

He clears his throat and paces back to the bed, where he collapses on his stomach and turns his head away from the lamp on his bedside table. He really should go back to sleep. He pulls the blankets over himself for good measure, because a blanket will definitely keep her away. Definitely. After a moment he reconsiders and turns down the blankets on the other side of the bed – he's not calling it her side of the bed, because it's not, it's just the side that's not his. She gives him a questioning look.

"You're going to get cold," he says. "Come read over here." She smiles and slips next to him, and he turns his head away from the light again. She's going to read and he's going to sleep and that's all there is to it. Seriously.

Sleep. Sleep sleep sleepsleepsleep. You know, like what he was doing before she picked the freaking lock to break into his bedroom. He peeks over his shoulder at her to watch her read, her brows drawn together in concentration, her lips twitching as she silently mouths the words. He can feel warmth radiating off of her, seeping into the sheets, into his skin. If he closes his eyes and thinks very hard, he can smell her. He gives up on sleeping and concentrates mostly on holding very still and counting backward from a thousand.

But then she starts whispering to herself – no, not to herself, to Pascal. Great. Now the frog's in on it too. If this were anyone else, he would be annoyed, but it's not just anyone, it's Rapunzel, and he's got a stupid soft spot for her wackiness, and he's secretly fascinated to hear her thought process.

"All men have it, Pascal. You see, Eugene's not special."

He resents that, but doesn't say anything as he's supposed to be both ignoring her and asleep.

"It's looks funny, doesn't it?"

Pascal agrees with a squeak, and she turns the book sideways to get a better look at the illustrations.

"Hmm. It's not a very good picture. We'll have to find a better one."

_Chirp?_

"No, I don't think he'll show us or he would have offered already."

_Whirr._

"Maybe in the art collection in the library. I've seen a lot of paintings of nude women since we got here, there must be some nude men around."

_Purr._

"I wonder why people don't like drawing men. Maybe because women are prettier and everyone agrees that this thing looks too silly to draw."

It takes a great deal of effort for Eugene not to laugh, but he manages, and imagines her face as she flips through old art books searching for pictures of naked men.

She's silent for a good fifteen minutes as she reads about the more technical side of the mechanics. The only reason he knows she hasn't fallen asleep is because every now and then she turns a page. Then she gasps.

"Babies," she breaths.

Eugene's entire body stiffens. Oh crap. Please, please, please don't let her get all baby crazy now.

"This is how babies are made, Pascal. It feels good because it's an evolutionary incentive for people to reproduce. That's interesting."

_Chirp?_

"It mixes genetic material from a man and a woman and gives that material to new person. We'll have to find a book on genetics next. That sounds fascinating. Oh, that must be why I look so much like my parents! I have their features!"

_Purr!_

"They mix their genetic material and then the baby grows inside the woman. Well, that doesn't sound very pleasant."

_Growl._

He hears her turn several pages, flipping to the chapter on pregnancy. "I've never thought about where people come from before, but I guess they do have to come from somewhere. Have you ever thought about it?"

_Squeak!_

"Well I haven't. I've never even seen a baby before. Have you seen a baby chameleon?"

_Rumble._

"Don't worry. I'm sure you will one day."

_Purr._

She slips back into silence for a while.

"No. That doesn't sound fun at all. Do you think that's why Eugene didn't want to tell me, because he didn't want me to have to grow a baby?"

_Whirr._

"Or maybe he just doesn't want to have a baby with me." She sounds immensely sad as she considers this.

_Chirp?_

"No, I'm sure he'd be a great father. He would laugh with her, and hold her, and play with her, and teach her new things, and she'd love him very much."

Eugene finds this conversation horrifying. Absolutely horrifying. So why is it that he's smiling? Uh oh. He needs to put a stop to the smiling and the warm feelings right now.

"He'd be like my father would have been. And we'd be a family and I'd be a-" Her voice cuts off abruptly and Eugene can feel her suddenly tense.

"No," she whispers, her voice almost frantic. An icy hand has clasped around her heart and it's suddenly very difficult to breathe. "Oh, Pascal, I can't be a mother. I can't. I don't know how!" Her voice breaks as she buries her face in her hands, and Eugene pulls her into his arms before he remembers that he's supposed to be asleep.

"Shh. It's alright, Rapunzel. It's alright." He rubs her back and runs a soothing hand through her hair, letting her cry against his chest again. "Shh. I think that's about enough reading for tonight. What do you say?"

She nods shakily as he moves her book from her lap to toss it on the bedside table and extinguish the lamp. He guides her down to sleep tucked up against him, and Pascal takes up a spot nestled against the back of his neck, and he thinks to himself that this position, this sense of comfort is becoming a bit familiar.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

They fall into a routine over the course of the next week. Rapunzel slips into Eugene's room as soon as her maids leave her for the evening and she considers the hallways deserted enough for travel. She has found a genetics text that she is reading cover to cover with fascination while tucked in next to Eugene. She falls asleep over her book after no more than an hour, and Pascal takes his place wrapped around the back of Eugene's neck, which wakes the man up enough to slip the book from Rapunzel's hands, extinguish the lamp, and pull the girl close. His room is close enough to the kitchens that at four in the morning when the cooks arrive Pascal can smell their baking or hear them moving or sense the subtle change in temperature enough to nudge Rapunzel awake again so she can sleepily return to her room.

Eugene wakes every morning feeling as though something is missing. There's no telling what it is.

This schedule of small amounts of interrupted sleep is wearing on the princess. She's yawning more than usual and her eyes are heavy and stinging. Although it's really hard to say it, Eugene tells her that she should probably stop coming and stay put in her own room. She promptly refuses and the next night Eugene goes to extreme measures to get her to take her rest seriously. He locks his door again and listens to the scuttling sounds as she once again picks it. He grins as she tries to open the door, only to find that he has shoved his heavy dresser in front of it. He assumes that she's taken the hint and gone back to bed, but then a few minutes later he hears the pat of bare feet on his balcony and then she successfully snuggles up next to him with her book.

"I know you're awake, and you know you can't get rid of me that easily. So there."

"And you shouldn't be climbing around the outside of the castle at night."

"Just give up, Eugene."

"Yeah," he yawns, draping an arm over her. "That's a good plan."

She has completely abandoned pursuing a physical relationship in fear of becoming pregnant. He has to admit that it's practical and it's probably wise, but good grief it sucks.

Kissing? No.

Making out? Hell no.

Cuddling in the dark and looking all peaceful and attractive? Yeah. That's apparently ok.

Being insufferably frustrating? Oh yeah. That's cool too.

After a week, Eugene takes it upon himself to put an end to her fears. Being afraid of sex is sad. Being afraid of sex with him is just absurd.

This is a three stage attack, the first stage of which is to show her that there are certain precautions one can take to avoid conception. Although he has a condom made of sheep intestines and soaked in some sort of stinging chemical in his inside shirt pocket at all times, he's pretty sure that it would be best if she doesn't know that. He's new to this whole relationship thing and he's trying pretty hard not to screw it up, and announcing that he's easy seems like a way to do that.

Besides, the one in his pocket doesn't have instructions. He lost those. Well, no he didn't lose them, he just threw them out, but the point is that they're not around anymore. So he takes a trip to the sketchy part of town to get a brand new box of prophylactics complete with instructions handwritten by the chemist. He tosses them into the window seat on top of her books, where she'll find them that evening.

She and Pascal spend a good hour whispering to one another as they puzzle through this new, grand invention by reading the directions and scattering the individual cloth baggies about and opening a few and poking at them.

"They smell funny," she confides to the chameleon, who agrees whole heartedly. Eugene almost dies laughing and Rapunzel teasingly scolds him for spying. She gives him a peck on the lips, and the light of reassurance glows in her eyes. He victoriously considers this to be progress.

Stage two is reminding her that kissing and such is fun and that she wants to do it. She was so interested just a few days before, surely a part of her is still interested. The problem with stage two is that he has very few ideas as to how to make her want him besides looking devilishly handsome, which he's already tried. How do you seduce a girl? He's never sat down and thought about it before. It's usually pretty easy for him as a well placed word here and there, an easy swagger, and a smolder will generally get the job done.

Flowers? Barf. No.

Poetry? He had a few good ones memorized for when such a thing might be necessary (or more accurately he had bits and pieces of good ones memorized, cutting out the stanzas about betraying the girl and leaving her to kill herself, and hoping that no one he tries it on is well read enough to know.) But using a poem that he's used before on a floozy feels wrong considering that whole relationship thing again. Maybe he needs a new poem. No. That's not going to happen.

Sing her a song? No. He doesn't sing.

Buy her something shiny? Or… steal her something shiny? She wouldn't like that. If she ever found out.

Maybe he could die for her. He's hesitant about that one, because he thinks that he really should have some credit left over from last time.

So he decides on flowers (ick) and that evening he presents her with a little bouquet of purple something or others. This earns him a squeal, a bounce, a declaration that they need water, and then-

She leaves. Off to put them in a vase, which was not at all the way he was hoping the evening would progress.

He considers that maybe these failures are a sign that he should not be attempting to seduce her. Even though she now knows what's going on more or less – mostly less, he still feels guilty. Guilty enough to stop trying to think up romantic gestures that he finds distasteful and most likely won't work.

But he's a lecherous, horrible human being, and he can't fake sleep as she scoots up close to him and searches for her place in her book and her place in his arms, and she's wearing that blue silk nightdress that's just a touch shorter than the rest of them. He sits up and peers over her pale, bare shoulder.

"Learn anything new?"

"Yes! Someone did these experiments with pea plants that I want to try but… Hey, you're not listening."

"Hmm?" He looks up at her from rubbing his cheek against her shoulder and nuzzling against her neck. "Yes, I was. Pea plants. Fascinating. Tell me more." He turns back to his work, dragging his chapped lips over her smooth skin.

"I really don't think you're listening."

"Mmm."

"Eugene… Eu- oh." She tilts her head and her eyes flutter closed. Her shoulders relax ever so slightly.

Phase two accomplished! On to phase three: fun without going all the way.

He hisses at Pascal, who – good man that he is - glares at him, sticks out his tongue, and wanders off to make himself scarce.

She keeps her spine straight so as to hold as much contact with him as possible as he guides them down, her back pressed against his chest, his arms about her waist, hands splayed over her stomach, her arms wrapped over his pulling him tighter, her backside flush against his groin. He trails kisses over the sensitive back of her neck, over the upper vertebra of her back. He can feel every muscle of her small form tighten and release and tighten again as she breathes, as she feels, as the electricity between them turns palpable.

He breathes against the shell of her ear, and she shivers so deliciously, that he can't help but bite her, and she can't help but press back against him more tightly.

"Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, then groans burying his face in her hair as her hips rock back against him.

"Ok," she gasps, her voice thin and quivering.

He kisses her neck again. It's sloppy and inelegant. She's so full, overflowing with life, radiating perfection with her smile, her eyes, the press of her hips. His hands quiver so close to her skin. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise." He would never hurt her. Never.

"I know," she promises, trusting and open and innocent and resting in the circle of his arms.

"Close your eyes," he whispers, drawing his hand to the curve of her breast, so near and immediate beneath her nightgown. "Just feel."

She moans and the song is beautiful. There is nothing in his world but her, the feel and the taste and the sound and the warmth of her. Her breath quickens in fright and he tenses to pull away, but she wraps herself around his arm and holds him in place. "Slower," she breathes, her eyes still closed. He nods against her shoulder and strokes her more carefully, building each wave of sensation before pressing on, building momentum until she's pulling at his arm and whimpering.

He shakes because this is new. This has _meaning_. Before her he had nothing, and now... Now she is his. She is his everything. And this feeling of holding her as she is elevated to new heights of pleasure has him feeling more deeply, more passionately than he has ever known. His desire for her has grown to near shameless proportions. That burning in his navel is threatening to devour him.

His free hand slips down over her hip, down her leg, to find the hem of her gown and pull back again against smooth skin. They groan together as he skates over the fabric of her underwear, silky and thin and revealing. He pulls the flesh of her backside against him and squeezes his eyes closed as she rocks back. Maybe her movements are instinctive. Maybe she's just perfectly following every subtle guidance of his fingers as they dig into her abdomen. God help him, she's a fast learner.

She latches onto his bicep with one arm, trying to wrap herself up in him, trying to get closer without knowing how. One of her hands fists and twists in the sheets as she writhes, needily searching for satisfaction. Eugene slips his hand between her legs to oblige.

She jerks, knocking her head back against his cheek. He barely feels the throb of pain over the throb of his need, but he stops and listens to her struggle for breath. It's an intoxicating sound, one that pulses through his veins. She swallows thickly. "I'm alright," she croaks.

"You sure?" His voice is pained, and he swallows as well, tightening his hold around her, seeking support for his spinning head.

She nods. "You won't hurt me." And there's so much assurance, so much blind trust in her voice that he feels as though his heart may explode with the exquisite homecoming of it all.

He holds her tight with one arm, and gently – so gently – he strokes her. She bucks and gasps each time, but they gradually wane as she becomes accustomed to the sensation and starts jerking and panting for entirely different reasons. She grinds against him in the most deliciously, painfully provocative way. She tries to curl in on herself, but immediately misses the feel of him against her back and forces herself to bear it, forces herself – no, allows herself to feel it all even though the feelings are coming at her so fast she feels she might be drowning.

He can feel her tense. He can feel her pulse race under his lips, under his fingers. He can feel her skin heat. "Eu- Eug-" She can't get the word out, but it's still enough to send him careening. Her legs lock around his hand. Her back arches violently. Her whole being shakes.

She comes undone in his arms and it is the single greatest moment of his life. She is perfect and delicate and she shatters all because of him. This is all for him, because she loves him completely, and together they're finally both whole. Lights burst before his eyes, as his loins jerk and erupt and drag part of him away, as his very soul explodes with bliss, as a pounding surf rushes in his ears and blocks out the world so that the only thing he knows is the smell of her sweat.

When he can think again, she has collapsed against him, limp and heavy and still tingling with residual shudders. He's drained and slow and there's a pinprick pain in his skull, but he musters up enough effort to turn her face and kiss her, deep and slow and lazy.

She bats her eyes - he loves her eyes - and smiles at him - he loves her smile – and rolls over sleepily to wrap weak arms around his chest.

He has this habit of saying stupid things at stupid times, things that are true but he doesn't know they're true until the words are loose and there's no chance of snatching them back. Words like "My real name is Eugene Fitzherbert," and "You were my new dream," and

"I love you."

"Mmhmm," she purrs. "I love you more."

But there's something in the way she says it that makes him still, something automatic, something insubstantial. He frowns and pulls back to meet her weighted, fluttering eyes.

"That's… the first time I've ever said that," he admits.

To anyone. Ever. Some sort of fanfare, or at least mild shock would seem appropriate.

"Mmm," she says, already dreaming.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN:** Oh no! Anachronisms! This is unacceptable considering the high standards of historical and scientific accuracy presented in the source material. I should be shot for my crimes against literature and humanity. As long as I have a blindfold and a cigarette, I'll go with dignity.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Eugene wakes from a restless sleep when he is disturbed by the shifting of his pillow. He opens one gummy eye and comes face to face with Pascal's dirty look.

"Don't give me that."

Pascal shakes his head slowly, dripping with disappointment.

"Do I comment on your sex life?"

The frog's head tilts to an odd angle.

Eugene groans and rubs his temple, where his headache has grown into a dull throb. He feels crusty and depressed and he would very much like to take a bath.

Pascal chirps and blinks at him with concern.

"I'm fine. Is it time for her to go?"

This is met with a nod, but the frog's nice enough to look a little sad.

He looks down at Rapunzel, her face obscured by stray stands of dark hair. She is dead weight against him, her breathing deep and even. For a moment he considers pretending to be asleep when Pascal wakes her. For a moment he considers running as soon as she leaves the room, running and running and running until he's far enough away that he can't look back. He gave her his heart, he gave her his life, he finally found the place where he belongs, and she didn't seem to care.

Maybe he's over analyzing it. She does care for him. He knows that - he _knows_. But he can't help thinking that she cares for everyone. It's her nature. And really, what makes him different from anyone else except for the fact that she saw him first. If one of the Stabbington brothers or one of the palace guards had stumbled across her tower, would she be lying here with them? The idea fills him with jealousy and self pity that tastes like poison.

He's pulled from these thoughts by Pascal, who purrs and rubs against his cheek. It comforts him to think that Pascal would never nuzzle the Stabbington brothers, so he must have some sort of redeeming qualities. Of course he does, Rapunzel's not stupid. He takes a deep breath and brushes her hair behind her ear.

"That old witch really messed her up."

Pascal nods vehemently and makes a disgusted kacking noise. He was hurt pretty badly himself when he was kicked across the tower. Eugene scratches the little guy's head and pokes him once in the chest, glad that he has at least one ally.

"Hey, sunshine," he murmurs, brushing his lips against Rapunzel's forehead. "Time to get a move on."

She mutters under her breath and snuggles closer to him.

"Nope. Wake up." He manages a cheery smile as she cracks her eyes open. He's a fantastic liar. "Good morning!"

"Eugene?" She rubs one eye with her wrist and props herself up on an elbow. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep. And now it's morning so you need to go back to your room."

"Can't I stay here?"

"No, Blondie, you can't."

"Hmm. But I'm tired."

"You're also eloquent and agreeable."

"Don't be rude," she grumbles, flopping back down on the bed and closing her eyes.

"Come on, now. You can go back to sleep in your own bed. In order to get my beauty rest, I need to sprawl out." He kicks at her gently with a leg, invading her side of the bed - the side that wasn't his side, that is. She giggles and smiles up at him with a look that makes him melt. Man, he's got it bad.

"It feels like I've been struck by lightning," she confides.

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a good thing?"

She considers this a moment. "I don't know. Is it supposed to be a good thing?"

"What matters is what you think."

She considers again, absently petting Pascal, who's turned a sunny yellow color. "Did you feel it too?"

He blinks, not knowing how forward he should be. Put himself out there and let her squash him, or protect himself?

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I did."

She nods and smiles. "And you like it."

"Yeah."

"Then it's a good thing."

He finds himself honestly smiling. "I'm glad you think so."

"So can we do it again?"

"Uh… not right now."

"Why not?"

"Because your maids are going to wonder where you are, and they'll send the palace guards straight here, and then they'll hang me."

"It'll take them a while to find me."

"No, it won't."

"I'll tell them to leave you alone."

"I don't think that will make a difference."

"I'm the princess," she says indignantly.

"And that's why you need to stay away from scum like me." He gives her a peck and a gentle shove, but she won't be moved, choosing instead to thread her fingers through his.

"Then when?"

"When what?"

"When can we do it again?"

"Uh…" He's momentarily boggled by how she can be so perfectly at ease while asking him something like that. _Oh right_, he thinks. _She doesn't know any better_. It's refreshing in a way. He could be the worst partner ever and she would have no idea. Well, maybe not the worst, and he wasn't anywhere close to being the worst anyway. But it does take a bit of the pressure off. He won't have to constantly be trying to impress her or top himself or top someone from her past. _You see?_ he tells himself, _there is a silver lining._

"Soon," he says. She gives him a skeptical glare, just daring him to lie to her. "Soon."

He spends his day doing nothing as usual, which is actually starting to get a bit boring. He's starting to consider taking those etiquette lessons that the king was hinting at the last time they spoke. Or maybe he could get a job, but he can't really think of anything he would be good at. Maybe someone else around is in the market for finding a lost princess and he could go on a quest or something. Maybe he could steal stuff from bad guys and return it to their rightful owners. He's already told the Captain of the Guards – who's a prick by the way – about all the more apparent holes in the castle defenses. He could go see if he could find more, or if anything had been done yet about the ones he pointed out. But he decides not to check on it, as most likely nothing has been done, and knowing that he's not being taken seriously will just make him feel bad.

Without really thinking about it, he wanders towards the stables, and only comes up short when he spots the great white pain in the ass.

Maximus looks up at him, snorts, then turns back to his feed in disinterest.

Eugene leans back against the stable wall. "How's it hanging?"

This earns him an eye roll. And Eugene wonders exactly what provoked him to come in here.

"Have you ever told someone you love them?"

Max pauses to give him a look of utter disbelief. On reflection, it was a really stupid question for multiple reasons.

"Has anyone ever told you that they love you?" He highly doubts it. He doesn't think the horse deserves to be loved. Maybe begrudgingly respected. Maybe gaped at. But loved?

To his surprise the horse perks up and nods excitedly, wagging his tail in a way that doesn't seem possible.

"Seriously?"

_Nod_.

"Who?"

Maximus bats his eyelashes and gestures towards the castle, and Eugene has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly who told Maximus she loved him. He groans and marches off, leaving the horse to stare after him in confusion, shrug, and return to his feed.

Eugene wanders aimlessly through the gardens as it seems as good a place as any to mope, and ends up at the fish pond, where he spends a while throwing pebbles and wallowing.

"You look down today."

He jumps and spins around to see the queen watching him, her head tipped to one side in interest.

"Ma'am," he says, bowing.

"Strange that you should be unhappy," she says. "Rapunzel is in an exceptionally bright mood this morning."

_Don't blush. Don't blush. Don't blush_. "Ma'am?"

"Emma."

"What?"

"My name is Emma. You may use it if you wish."

"I don't really think I could."

"That's up to you, of course. But I don't mind. I believe you call my daughter by her given name."

"Well, sometimes."

The queen smirks at him. "And other times you use a nickname."

"Uh…"

She laughs. It's a nice sound, honest and open. "Come sit with me, Mr. Fitzherbert."

He doesn't really have a choice, so he stiffly sits down next to her on one of the cold, stone benches. He doesn't really know what to expect from this interview, but it's definitely not what comes out of her mouth.

"Do you know how I met my husband?"

He blinks at her. "A ball? Some sort of arranged thing?" he guesses.

She makes a noise that's deceptively like a snort. "No. Richard was hunting in the forest and got himself gauged by a boar. Nasty injury. He really shouldn't have lived. He was too far away from Corona to get him there in time, so his party brought him to the nearest healer and he was forced to stay there for over a month while he recuperated. That healer had a daughter, and that daughter was me.

"I was tending to him when he woke, and the first thing Richard said to me was, 'I didn't think I'd go to heaven, and see such angels.'"

It's now Eugene's turn to snort. "That's a line if I ever heard one."

"I know," she says with a hint of irritation, "and I wasn't buying it at all. But even though I wasn't receptive to his advances, and even though I had such a lower status than him, he was convinced that he was in love and he was going to whisk me off and make me a princess."

"What did you say?"

"I said he was feverish, and too weak to whisk anyone anywhere. And then I said that he only thought he loved me because he hadn't seen anyone but me and my father and his idiot friends for a month. And then I said that he only thought he loved me because I had nursed him back to health and he was grateful. Do you see?"

He gapes at her. "How did you-"

"Eventually he went back to the castle, but he spent the next year coming out whenever he could to try to court me. And finally I couldn't take it anymore and I told him that I didn't love him and I wished for him to leave me alone."

"You lied."

She shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. But do you know what he told me?"

He shakes his head.

"He said that he loved me because I was different. Because I was the only one who would lie to his face and send him away so that he could have a better life."

He frowns and thinks on that for a second. "Are you saying that she's better off without me and I should leave?"

She rolls her eyes, which is something Eugene has never seen her do. "I'm saying that you're different, Mr. Fitzherbert. There is a reason she likes you and you should respect her choices enough not to question it."

"She doesn't always make smart choices."

"None of us do."

He pauses, unsure, and then confesses what's been weighing on his chest all day. He doesn't know what the deal is with all these confessions lately, but it seems like once they started they just won't stop. "I'm worried that she doesn't know what love is enough to love me back."

The queen sighs. "That worries me as well. All we can do at the moment is show her what it means to feel loved. That's one of the few ways I can think of to help her." For a moment she looks so exquisitely sad, but then she looks up and smiles at him. "And besides, if we truly love her then we won't care if it will be returned."

She stands and brushes her skirts to remove invisible wrinkles.

"You should take the etiquette instruction that my husband offered. Inactivity does not suit you, and coarseness does not suit a prince consort."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Rapunzel scurries in that night, bounces onto his bed, and grins at him. It might be his imagination, but he thinks her nightdress is more revealing than usual.

"Something you want?"

She giggles. Then she scuttles under the blankets to press against him. Eagerly, she grabs his arms and drags them around her, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes while biting her lip to attempt to control her excitement. It's far too attractive a look on her. She prods him with a hip as he continues to stare - it's a more sensual movement than just a grab for his attention.

"You're feisty this evening."

"Kiss me here," she says, tilting her head and pointing to a spot on her neck near the hinge of her jaw. "I like it there."

"I've created a monster."

She takes a moment to stick out her lower lip in a pout and bat her eyelashes. This is also far too attractive. She reaches behind her and taking him by the wrist, guides his hand up and down her back in a mockery of a caress.

"Where did you want a kiss? Show me again."

She beams at him and points and he seals his mouth over her neck, immediately feeling her pulse quicken under his tongue. Far too soon for both of them, he pulls back and gives her a fake, clueless look as if he's finished and doesn't know what to do with himself next. It's called playing with your food. It's also called don't give the princess a hickey. Her eyes widen slightly and she makes a small noise of protest before she quickly points again to her neck - a spot just below the last one.

He smirks and kisses her again, easily following her finger as it trails slowly down her neck and over her collar bone. There he snatches her finger into his mouth and sucks it while she giggles. He pulls her closer, reveling in the fact that she has finally relaxed. She guides his lips back to her skin and almost hesitantly leads him to her breast. His fingers tighten in the silk of her nightgown as her free hand fists painfully in his hair and his loins clench. Her thin sleeve slips easily off her shoulder and she trembles as if she's cold in the second before he runs his tongue across her nipple. She gasps and her back arches, thrusting her breast against his lips and her hips against his stomach.

He rolls them both so as to rest on top of her. It brings her closer. It allows him to feel every one of her writhing movements, each stutter of her gasping breath. He guides her legs up around him and the pressure of her squeezing him is simply amazing. He attempts to burn the feeling into his memory. She holds him tight, both hands on his head to hold him in place. He tries to be gentle with her, to control himself, but she is doing no such thing, squirming and squeezing and digging her short fingernails into the flesh of his cheek. She's beautiful and uninhibited and shamelessly enjoying what he's doing to her. He grins and draws her skin between his teeth.

Then he hears the worst noise he could possibly hear: the clanking of an approaching guard, and he freezes, every muscle in his body tense.

And then he realizes that it isn't the worst sound. The worst sound is the cry that breaks from Rapunzel's throat, even though at any other time he would love hearing it.

"Shh!" He presses a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, and she squeaks as her eyes snap open in fright. "Shh," he whispers against her cheek, holding her still with his weight, trying to calm his breathing and listen and come up with an escape plan for when the guards come to investigate. The balcony. That would be best. She could escape that way and the guards wouldn't find her if they search the room. She continues to stare at him, absolutely still, frightened as a little bunny. Damn it, he can't believe he scared her again just as she was feeling so confident. He kisses her cheek briefly to try to calm her, but he can tell it doesn't work.

The clanking grows louder as the guards approach, and after a moment she hears it as well. They both lie painfully still, holding their breath as the patrol moves closer-

And then passes.

The sound dies away and Eugene breathes a sigh of relief. He rests his forehead against hers and pulls his hand from her mouth.

"Sorry," he murmurs.

She continues to gaze up at him, her lip quivering slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, you're great."

"Then why'd you stop?"

"I don't want the guards to catch us."

She thinks on this for a moment. "I don't see why they would care. It's not any of their business. Is it?"

"Well, no, it's not. But if they knew then they would make it their business."

"Why? I'm having fun and you're having fun. Why wouldn't they want that?"

"Uh… well…" He shifts onto his back to give himself a moment to think. "You know when you went dancing in the rain?"

"Yeah, that was fun."

"Yeah. You remember how the guards threw a fit?"

She scrunches her face up with supreme distaste.

"This is like that," he says.

She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows to bite at a fingernail in thought. "They said that I shouldn't be out in the rain because it would make me sick and ruin my clothes," she said slowly. "Why would they say that kissing is bad?"

He shrugs. "Because they don't like me and they don't want us to get too close."

"I like you," she mutters. He smiles and traces her cheek with his fingertips. "What if I was doing this with someone they did like? Would they be alright with that?"

Something in his chest contracts harshly at this thought. "No. I don't think so."

She rolls her eyes. "Then it's not about you. You're just being self centered."

He snorts and she gives him a cheeky grin. "You're right," he says. "It's not me. It's you."

"What do they have against me kissing? It's fun," she reiterates.

"They want you to be pure and unspoiled."

"And kissing is impure."

"No. They just think it is because they're stuffy and have no one to make out with themselves."

"Ah." She nods, "Ok, I get it."

Eugene doesn't really think she does as he didn't really explain it very well, but then she settles down next to him and sighs sleepily.

The next day he starts etiquette training. He doesn't do it so he can become a viable candidate to marry Rapunzel. He does it because he's bored and because the queen asked him to. His instructor is a thin man with a mustache that curls at the ends, and he's used to teaching knights and guards how to behave themselves, so he is not as taken aback by Eugene's lack of tact as he could be.

Getting straight down to business, they spend two hours shaking hands, which Eugene thinks is immensely stupid as he already has a fine, firm handshake – thank you very much. His instructor disagrees and they shake hands over and over and over and over, and eventually his arm gets tired and his fingers start to hurt. Deciding that he's mastered it "well enough for now," the thin man goes on to list all the people with whom he should not shake hands. This list includes royalty, lords, knights, people who are exceptionally impoverished, all women, and about a thousand other people. Eugene thinks it might have been easier just to give him a list of who he could shake hands with, but he's quickly informed that his smart mouth won't get him anywhere, with which he disagrees.

A bit put out, he wanders the castle looking for Rapunzel and eventually finds her in one of the little drawing rooms doing a jigsaw puzzle with the queen.

"Look!" she cries. "This puzzle has _a thousand_ pieces. I only ever had one puzzle and it only had four hundred pieces. And I never had anyone to help me with it before. Do you want to help? Here. Sit down."

The queen gives her daughter a loving smile as the girl continues to ramble. "I did that puzzle over and over again. I got really good at it. One time I even did it upside-down, with the picture facing the floor, just to show I could, but mother wasn't very impressed."

The queen flinches, but does it so subtly that Rapunzel doesn't notice, and promptly recovers herself and clicks a piece into place.

"Well, I'm impressed," Eugene says. "Gothel just didn't appreciate what she had."

Rapunzel beams at him.

"How were your classes today, Mr. Fitzherbert?" the queen asks.

"Fine," he says focusing on a puzzle piece and pretending to look for its neighbors. He doesn't want to tell the queen that he had a horrible time.

"Do you want to show me your handshake?" she asks.

He skips straight over the part where she knows his curriculum, and says, "I'm not supposed to shake your hand."

"Indulge me." She reaches across the table, and he takes her hand. It feels like almost the exact same handshake he's been giving his instructor. "That's very good."

"Thanks."

Rapunzel watches the whole thing with ever growing interest. "Can I try?"

"Sure, Goldie."

She takes his hand and shakes it. Then shakes it again. Then she changes the angle of her grip. Then the pressure of her grip. And then the whole thing just disintegrates into her inspecting his fingernails.

* * *

**AN**: Short one today. Sorry folks. To make up for it, here's a self deprecating story: Today I was proctoring an exam and apparently making funny faces to myself, when one of the kids breaks the silence by saying, "Mr. -, what are you doing?" I look up and he, and now the rest of the class, are looking at me and I'm so startled that I tell the truth. "I'm practicing my smolder." "Oh, no, Mr. -. You don't have a face for smoldering." The rest of the class nods. A part of me inside died, and all I could say was, "Eyes on you papers, guys." The moral: don't practice your eyebrow movements in a room full of teenagers.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Rapunzel spends the evening tracing the lines of Eugene's back – the strong curve of his shoulder blades, the rise of his vertebrae, the way he narrows at the waist, the way his muscles roll beneath her fingers. She keeps having to tell him to lie still and she suspects that she's tickling him and he just refuses to admit it. His skin keeps rising into gooseflesh, and he keeps shooting her a look of mild annoyance that doesn't even make her pause because he looks so very unintimidating with his face half squished into his pillow and his eyes gradually growing darker. She grins down at him and continues her examination. She decides that she enjoys making him squirm, because Flynn Rider would never let himself be tortured this easily.

She wants to sketch Eugene's back, because it is absolutely fascinating and she's found herself thinking about it a great deal during her lessons when she really ought to be paying attention. She thinks about his back and his chest and his eyes and his hands – mostly his hands. At first she thought that touching him would help. If she became familiar with his body, then the allure they had might be broken and she could focus more readily on her lessons. But it turned out that this plan didn't work at all and she is even more interested and distractible than she was before.

Her new plan is to draw, because that usually helps her sort out her emotions and work ideas through her system, as if when she puts them on paper she no longer has to store them in her head. And also, her father just gave her a new sketch book and showed her where the art books were in the library and sat with her as she flipped through them. The king didn't know much about art, but that didn't really matter because Rapunzel didn't know much either. It seemed as though several other artists were distracted by their loved ones and painted images of delicate kisses and passionate embraces. She could feel the emotion in some of the paintings, she could relate to them, and they set her heart pounding. She decided then and there that her new aspiration would be to express that level of emotion in a painting.

She has only ever seen Gothel's back before. She couldn't even view her own back as it was hard to crane her neck around in a mirror and her back was always covered in a great sheet of hair anyway. But Gothel's back and Eugene's back are worlds apart. Gothel's skin was soft, pale, pristine, and ageless. Eugene's is more coarse, weathered by the sun, and textured from years of activity. Fine muscles ripple just beneath his skin, shifting and twitching against her caress. And then there is the scattered hodgepodge of scars that break up the subtle lines of him and make him look somehow disjointed without looking unattractive.

She used to give Gothel shoulder rubs, and with years of corrections she has gotten fairly good at them. She wonders if Eugene would like it, and decides to try. He tenses for a moment, then relaxes with a groan.

Then she remembers that when Eugene kisses the back of her neck it feels amazing, so she tries that, lowering her lips to his rough skin. He tenses again under her hands, as he forces himself to hold still. She trails down his spine in hopes that she's making him just as ticklish as he makes her. She presses her cheek to the hollow under his shoulder blade and finds that she seems to fit there perfectly. Her massage continues on his shoulders then down his arm to squeeze his bicep, trying to help him relax, but also trying to do exactly the opposite, because she's feeling a flutter in her stomach and she's hoping that he feels it too and any moment he'll snap and grab her and kiss her again.

"Blondie?"

"Hmm?" She smirks and looks down at him to see that his irritated expression has only grown more desperate, which makes that flutter in her stomach twist.

"You about done back there?"

"No."

He grumbles something under his breath, then buries his face firmly in his pillow.

"You're not going to be able to breathe like that," she says.

He lifts his head enough to say, "Passing out is the plan."

She smirks and moves on to investigate the small of his back.

The next morning is spent bowing. Eugene bows to his instructor. His instructor bows to him. He bows to his instructor. His instructor bows to him. Apparently a flamboyant Flynn Rider bow, although dashing and inspiring, is not what his instructor has in mind.

"You look idiotic," the man informs him.

"Thanks!"

"What would the princess think of you if you bowed to her like that?"

"She'd think I was charming and handsome."

"You're not."

"Come on, Phil. Don't be like that."

His instructor narrows his eyes. When Eugene asked what the man's name was he refused to tell him until Eugene was able to introduce himself and inquire after his name properly. Since Eugene didn't know how to do that yet, he made up a name and was determined to continue using it until he was corrected.

"What would the king and queen do if you bowed like that?"

"The king would laugh."

Phil nods. "Yes, he would."

"He'd laugh in a good way. With me, not at me. And then he'd slap me on the back and talk about dinner. Or my adventures. Or the princess. We haven't really branched out into other topics yet."

"I wonder why."

"As for the queen, she'd just roll her eyes and tell me some story with the moral that she's better than me."

"That doesn't seem to bother you as much as it should."

"Of course it doesn't bother me. She's right. She is better than me."

The instructor sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Alright," he says slowly. "Bow like a normal person or I'm going to kick you."

"Ah. Got it."

Rapunzel gives him an odd look as he bows to her that afternoon. She's sitting sideways in an armchair, her legs dangling over an arm, a sketch pad cradled against her bent knees. She frowns, her eyebrows pressing together. "Your bow changed."

"Yes, it did."

"You're not doing that hand thing anymore." She gives her wrist a wave.

"That's right."

"I liked the old one better."

"You and me both," he sighs, flopping onto the arm of her chair to peek at her drawing over her shoulder. She stretches out a bit to rest her head in his lap. "What are you working on?"

"Oh! You'll like it!" She flips back several, several pages, then eagerly pushes the sketch pad into his hands.

He blinks at it. Then he blinks again, thinking that there is just no way this could be what it looks like because it looks like a picture of Rapunzel squeezed fervently around him while wearing her skimpy nightdress.

"Is that… Wow."

"I know. It turned out well, right?"

"I… yeah."

"And look, there's more." She reaches up and turns a page.

Eugene turns the pad sideways and tries not to stammer out something that can in no way express how fantastic the more animalistic part of his brain finds her sketches. He turns a page and feels the heat rise in his neck. "Oh," he says, clearing his throat. "This one's in color."

She nods excitedly even though it's a really poor comment considering the magnitude of the piece in front of him.

"Do you like them?"

"Goldie, there's no way I couldn't like these."

"Really?"

"Yeah… It's like having my own personal pornographer."

"What's that?"

"Sexy pictures."

"Ah."

He turns the page again. "Oh. I like this one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Look at me. I look great! You should draw the wanted posters from now on, except that – well – I guess you shouldn't really."

"You're not wanted now anyway."

"And look at you! You've got great legs, Blondie. You should really show them off more."

She considers this, looking at her feet and wiggling her toes.

He turns another page. "And this… This is a picture of Pascal… Why is this a picture of Pascal?"

"He was being really cute."

"Ok, I can see that, but it's a bit disorienting to suddenly have a picture of your frog in the middle of all this-" He turns another page. "Wow." He stares for a moment. "Yeah, this picture of Pascal has got to go."

"Don't be mean."

"I'm not, it's just… What do you say we take this page out…" She frowns at him, narrowing her eyes causing him to quickly change tracks. "…and we'll frame it and hang it up in your room?"

She grins. "I think it'd look better in your room."

"Uh… ok… sure. Let's do that."

"Oh, Eugene! This is so great."

"Yeah," he says, staring again at her drawings. "Great."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The Corona archery tournament is Rapunzel's first large scale obligation as royalty. All she really has to do is have fun at the festival, then watch the tournament, and then present the winner with their prize, but she is very excited nonetheless.

Eugene is only mildly looking forward to the ridiculous amount of fried food that will be available, but he's having fun watching Rapunzel gush about how great it will be. It's also just too funny watching her practice as she picks up random objects and presents them to him as if he had just won the archery tournament, with a speech about victory in manly sports.

He spends the morning of the tournament being dragged around town by the hand as they watch fire dancers and sword eaters and puppet shows. They determine that the best of the festival food is the deep fried cookies, but after sampling so much indigestible junk, Rapunzel starts to feel a bit sick, so they make their way to the tournament grounds where she can take her seat in preparation for the contest.

Half way there they run into Maximus and have to stop so the horse and the princess can hug each other. The Captain of the Guards stands at Max's shoulder and watches their exchange with an air of amusement. He's out of uniform and Eugene barely recognizes him without his extravagant hat.

"Rider," the captain growls.

"Hey," Eugene grunts with a jerk of his chin. He's really not in the mood for manners today, or at least not with this guy.

Rapunzel's face peeks out from behind Maximus. "Are you entering the archery contest, Captain?"

"I am, your highness."

"Good luck. I hope you do well."

"As do I, but there's some stiff competition this year. How about you, Rider. You entering?"

"No. Projectile weapons are cheating." Eugene considered this a good cover for the fact that he has no clue how to shoot an arrow. Not that he minds or anything, as he can't think of a situation where he would _have to_ use a bow.

"Hmm. Who's your money on then? I hear that young Lord Wesley, Lord Herbert's son, is quite the archer." The captain's face bends into a leer. "He's turning out to be quite the noble and honorable young man. Just like his father."

Something contracts in Eugene's chest at the mention of the family he never had. He suddenly feels clammy, but he'd rather die than let the captain see his discomfort.

The captain smirks. "Too bad the same can't be said about you."

Eugene smirks back. "Yeah, it's a real shame. I have yet to have a heart attack from being an obesely fat drunkard, and I don't have a half dozen bastard children."

"You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure." He turns to Maximus. "What do you think? Have I been putting on weight lately?"

The horse shrugs one shoulder. _Meh._

"You're an idiot," the captain says.

"Ooo. That's original."

The captain's eyes narrow and his voice drops to an angry hiss. "And I don't like you."

"Wow. Another great insult. I seriously think you should give some consideration to taking your show on the road. Maybe you can form an act with glue-face here."

"Stop it." Both men snap around to see Rapunzel glaring at them. Maximus gives an affronted snort, but that's probably deserved. "Just stop."

The captain's shoulders relax and his face eases into a smile. "You're right, of course, your highness." He bows his head to her. "My apologies." Eugene doesn't bother to point out that he's the one who needs an apology, not Rapunzel.

She accepts his apology with a nod, and then – much to Eugene's surprise – turns her glare on him.

"What?" he asks.

She rolls her eyes, a gesture that Maximus somehow duplicates at her side.

"If you'll excuse me," the captain says. "I must prepare for the competition."

"Of course," Rapunzel replies with a smile. "Best of luck."

"Thank you."

As the captain leaves, Rapunzel rounds on Eugene again.

"What?" he repeats.

"You were rude."

"Me?"

"You insinuated that you would turn Maximus into glue."

"Maximus insinuated that I was fat."

"And you called Lord Wesley's children bastards."

"No," he corrected. "Lord Wesley doesn't have any children. I called Lord Herbert's children bastards, which I have every right to do. And I don't use that as an insult, only a technical term… Like when I call someone an ass hat."

She blinks at him a moment, then decides it doesn't matter and moves on. "You didn't have to pick a fight with him."

"He picked a fight with me."

"He's just upset about all the stealing you used to do. He's a guard. That's his job. You can't really blame him for disliking you."

"Sure I can," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. If that was the case, then she couldn't blame him for disliking the man that chased him across the country when he was just doing _his_ job.

"He's actually very nice when you get to know him."

"When have you had the chance to get to know him?"

She shrugs. "He's usually there when I go to see Maximus. He's introduced me to the rest of the guards."

"That sounds fascinating. Bring me along next time, won't you?"

She scowls magnificently and raises herself up beyond her full height by using the horse's shoulder for support. "You, Eugene Fitzherbert, are an ass hat."

He blinks at her. Then he laughs. "Good one, Blondie."

She tries to deepen her scowl, but it's not working because now she's kind of laughing. He reaches for her cheek and pulls her in for a kiss, which thoroughly disgusts Maximus.

He sits in the stands and watches the archery competition, even though he really doesn't care as long as no one he dislikes wins. He can't sit with Rapunzel because her place is in the royal box and his place is anywhere but the royal box. His absence confuses the king for a moment until he remembers that Eugene actually isn't a part of his family.

Eugene is too distracted as Lord Wesley has his turn to notice how well he scores. The man has his nose! Honestly, the nerve of some people! He catches Rapunzel squinting through one eye and holding up a thumb to cover a part of the lord's face, so apparently she's noticed it too. When the semi-final is over the lord doesn't progress, and Eugene cheers in celebration along with everyone else.

The captain does fairly well, moving on to the quarter-final, then the semi-final, and then the finals. That's annoying. Eugene cheers for the other guy, even though he has no idea who the man is. Unfortunately the captain wins the whole stupid thing, but it lifts Eugene's spirits to see that there are many people in the crowd who are less than happy with this development.

The captain steps up to the royal box and drops to one knee in front of the princess. She stands and gives her speech, which Eugene can't hear over the babble of the crowd, but he has it memorized already and he can tell that she is about to burst with joy. She presents the captain with a golden arrow for a trophy, and one of the secretaries from the treasury gives him a bag of money. They have a brief exchange: she says something, he says something, she laughs and says something else, he nods enthusiastically.

Eugene has the feeling that something just happened and whatever it is can't be good.

The next day he finds out that it's not good at all. In her excitement, she decided that she wanted to learn archery and asked the captain for lessons. Where she finds time to take archery lessons is beyond Eugene. He doesn't let it bother him because she's obviously enjoying herself. He's been able to find a balcony that overlooks where she practices and he is able to watch her progress. She's getting pretty good. Or at least he thinks she is. It's kind of hard to tell.

All he's doing is watching her progress. Seriously. He isn't spying on her because that is creepy and shows he doesn't trust her, which he does. And he isn't spying on the captain because… alright, maybe he's spying on the jerk a bit just to make sure he keeps his hands to himself and doesn't make her cry or something.

And, he tells himself, it isn't like he has a claim on her or anything. Not really. If she wants to ditch him and date… ugg, he couldn't even finish the thought, but if she wants to do that then she had every right to. It wasn't like he had died for her and given up everything to be with her. It wasn't like he was madly in love with her and jealous for the first time in his life. No. That wasn't what was going on. At all.

It's just that he doesn't understand how she can spend time with the captain of the guard and still laugh about it afterward. Doesn't she realize that he's a giant tool? Apparently not. And he's so old. Way too old for her in Eugene's very knowledgeable opinion. But that's ok because she can spend time with whoever she wants. He isn't going to stop her. She'll be mad if he tries, and he'll feel like an ass about it later.

He is not going to be like Gothel and keep her jealously hidden away all for himself. Reminding himself of that makes him less anxious. Not that he's anxious.

But the main reason he isn't bothered by it is because she still shows up every evening in his room to tell him all about her grand adventures and how well she's doing, and she grins just for him and she looks absolutely beautiful.

She hums as he kisses her, her tongue working furiously against his because she hasn't quite got it down perfectly yet, but the sheer eagerness of her movements makes it better than even the most adept, practiced kiss. She kneads the muscles of his chest, and his breathing speeds up, growing deeper yet more constricting with each beat of his heart. Her hands are still cold from the night and he shivers as they run across his abdomen. He nearly groans with frustration as they veer off to wrap around his waist, and he pulls her closer to make up for it, to try to reduce the demanding need to have her touch him.

He fills both greedy hands with the rise of her hips, then slides back to cradle the curve of her rear. She gasps at the contact, then again as he squeezes her flesh, then again as he pulls her tight, holding her so she can feel every inch of him pressed against her thigh. For a second they stay like that, breathing heavily, eyes squeezed closed, the heat of their desire and the discord of their inaction building, drawing them together, making her fingers claw against his back. She can't restrain herself for long and claims his mouth with a vehemence that will leave her lips swollen. She shifts against him, bringing his cock between her legs and squeezing it between her thighs.

He groans and bites down on his lip, pressing his forehead against hers, feeling her breath hot and fast against his face as she ever so slowly rocks her hips. He swears and she lets out a breathless laugh before she rocks again, firmer and stronger and more confident than before. She matches her rhythm to the squeezing of his fingers.

He hates that he's still wearing pants. He absolutely hates it, and he pushes himself between her long, gorgeous legs in an attempt to make things better, but it only makes it worse because - maybe he's imagining it - but he can feel the heat of her pressed against him, and he just longs for her so badly. He makes a passionate, frustrated noise in the back of his throat that comes out like a growl, and he's all but had it with self control.

He snatches up one of the hands at his back and swallows thickly, just cogent enough to remind himself to go easy, not to scare her. Quicker than he really should be moving, but far too slowly for his throbbing need, he eases her hand around, guiding it into his pants. Her breath catches, and he wraps her fingers around his length, covering her delicate hand with his own. Having her touch him feel so _good_, and his head spins, and the temperature rises, and he can't find enough air as he shows her how to stroke him. He's still restrained by fabric and he's still far too confined, but he reminds himself through the feeling of her sweating skin that he should take what he can get. In a way it's like he's doing it himself, controlling the pressure and the speed, but her fingers are so fine, so distinctly foreign, and somewhere distantly he can still feel the rest of her pressed against him - around him.

"Like this?" she whispers, breathless against his neck. But all he can do to answer is open his mouth in a silent moan and nod. So she kisses him, and it's perfect, and he doesn't know if he can hold out much longer if she keeps doing that and holding him close and squeezing him tight. And he realizes that there's no need to hold out, no need to impress, no need to save up for round two. With her he's free. With her everything is as it should be.

Gripping her tight, he falls apart in her hands.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN**: My wife has been playing "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry on a loop for the last hour in hopes that I'll stop what I'm doing and write a lemon. Joke's on her. I don't negotiate with terrorists.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Eugene doesn't make a fuss when he meets up with Rapunzel to work on a jigsaw puzzle and finds the captain sitting next to her, separating out all the edge pieces. It's not like they would have been alone anyway because the queen is also there. Eugene feels a bit of vindictive amusement at the look the woman shoots him. Maybe he's not the only one who wishes the captain would get out or grow a better personality.

He bows to the queen and Rapunzel and gives the captain a look of utter boredom before he takes his seat.

"Don't you have a job to do? Some poor sap to chase and throw in jail and execute?"

"Don't you have something to steal somewhere?"

"Nope. My afternoon is completely free."

Rapunzel giggles and Eugene determinedly pieces together more of the edge than the captain.

He doesn't make a fuss when a portrait of the captain makes its way into her sketchbook. It's mostly just a study of the man's hat and an attempt at portraying both the metallic texture of the helm and the feathery texture of his crest and mustache. This is the sketchbook that until recently featured a sketch of a lizard, and now features two. The original sketch is now framed and hung over his bed. Rapunzel wanted to get a rather elaborate frame, but he had convinced her to get a simple one of dark wood, that was thick enough for Pascal to rest on. It's now the frog's preferred place to sleep.

He doesn't make a fuss when she starts referring to the captain as "Walter." She calls everyone by their first name, so it isn't really a big deal.

He is taken aback when he hears _Walter_ call Rapunzel by a nickname. A nickname. She's the princess. Where does he get off? He calls her Zel, and he does it effortlessly, as if he's done it before, as if they are actually friends.

Zel. What the hell is that? It's stupid is what it is.

He's taken aback, but he doesn't make a fuss. Instead, he spends an hour that evening trying to come up with a worse way to butcher her name.

"Rap," he says, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration and running his fingers up and down her spine.

She makes a face. "Wrap?"

"You know, like you how _wrap_ around something." He pulls her leg over his waist so he can rub her thigh.

"That's awful," she giggles.

"Rappy?" he tries.

"No."

"Pun?"

"Like the jokes?"

"Like the middle syllable."

"Ah. No."

"Ra… Ra… Oh! I got it. You ready?"

She nods.

"Rarrrr!" he shouts and attacks her, flipping her over as she laughs hysterically. He kisses her, possessively letting most of his weight rest on top of her so he can feel her soft breasts compress against him, and he can feel the gentle strain of her diaphragm as she breathes. In this moment she is all his, and no one can take that away from him. He looks down into her sparkling green eyes.

"I love you, Blondie."

He thinks that maybe if he says it with enough seriousness, she'll understand that he's being honest.

She smiles and chirps, "I love you more."

"It's not a competition, you know."

She blinks at him in bewilderment for a moment before he claims her mouth again and all her confusion slips away.

Eugene doesn't even make a fuss later when he accidentally hears _Walter_ talking to the queen .

"…He's a criminal, who should not be allowed to walk free, let alone consort with the princess."

Eugene pauses in the hallway outside one of the studies that the king and queen regularly use when they don't want to go through the trouble of meeting in the throne room. He knows that he really shouldn't eaves drop, and he considers just ignoring it. Then he considers just marching in and allowing the jerk to tell him his problems to his face like a man. In the moment that he's hovering between these two options, it's already clear that he's just eaves dropping and he might as well just keep doing it.

"Mr. Fitzherbert is a hero who rescued my daughter."

Eugene grins. He never had a mother, but he thinks he might be beginning to understand what it's like to have one.

"Your highness, my understanding of the situation is that he stumbled upon her and was blackmailed into bringing her to the castle."

"Perhaps, but he has been on his best behavior lately."

"For him that doesn't mean much. You can't honestly believe that his change of heart is genuine."

"People change after experiencing extraordinary events."

"I am convinced he is faking it, your highness, to ease you into a sense of security before betraying you."

"And I must disagree with you, Captain. Mr. Fitzherbert is perfectly capable of taking whatever he wants from this castle without bothering to rub elbows with everyone inside. I also do not believe that Mr. Fitzherbert has the patience for such a convoluted scheme."

Eugene frowns, unsure if that was an insult or not.

"Furthermore," the queen continues, "he is helping my daughter through a difficult time, and they are quite fond of one another. I am certain that he would do nothing to harm her."

"Oh, really?" Something in the captain's voice makes the hairs on the back of Eugene's neck stand up. There's a bitterness to it, but also something triumphant. "I regret to inform you that I have evidence that he has been taking liberties with the princess."

"Evidence?"

"Yes, your highness."

Eugene has no idea what it could be. He can't come up with anything that's not both disgusting and an invasion of privacy. He barely controls himself from peeking in to see what it is, but he can hear that something has been passed to the queen. There is a pressing moment of silence.

"I beg your pardon, Captain, but I don't see how a sketch of Rapunzel's pet chameleon proves Mr. Fitzherbert's depravity."

Uh oh.

"If you would turn the page..."

A page turns. Then another. Eugene plans his escape.

The captain clears his throat. "I know that the images may not be… suitable for your eyes."

"Please," the queen says, a distinct note of irritation creeping into her voice. It's unclear whether it is from her distaste of the sketches or from the captain's assumption that she's never seen something so vulgar.

Another page turns and the queen begins to speak again. "Are you suggesting that these sketches depict actual events?"

"Yes."

"You should tread more cautiously when casting doubt over the princess' virtue."

"I didn't mean to… that is, I'm sure she's not at fault."

"I'm sure." Another page turns. "My daughter has a very active imagination." Another page turns. "Oh, here's a picture of you."

"I… uh…"

She ignores him and turns another page.

Then another.

"Surely you're going to do something about him," the captain pleads.

"Will this be all, captain?"

"I…" He seems to recognize his defeat and sighs. "Yes, your highness."

"Very well."

The captain exits the room with a bit more stomp to his steps than is polite. He comes up short when he catches sight of Eugene, and his eyes contract to slits.

"Your time is coming, Rider," he hisses. "Someday soon."

Eugene shrugs. He has the feeling that he might be right, but he's sure as hell not going to show it. The captain shoots him a disgusted look and storms away. Eugene watches him until he disappears around the corner.

"Mr. Fitzherbert?"

His blood runs cold. If he makes a run for it now how far could he get?

He swallows and pokes his head into the study, where the queen is still inspecting Rapunzel's sketchbook. "Have a seat." He does as she says, remembering to bow appropriately.

"Everything shows on Rapunzel's face," she says. "I know you haven't had sex with her." Eugene takes the breath he didn't know he was holding. "But be aware that if you do, I'll know, and I will not be so forgiving."

"I understand."

"Good." She flips another page. "It looks like I should have a talk with her about discretion."

"That'd be a good idea."

She gives him a penetrating stare. "I assume I don't need to have that talk with you."

"No, ma'am."

She turns back to the sketchbook. "The captain doesn't like you."

"I noticed."

"You should watch yourself. He could make things very difficult for you."

He grimaces.

She sighs. "Just behave yourself and don't give me a reason to expel you from the castle. It's been pleasant having you around."

"Thank you. I'll try."

"Good."

He feels light as he leaves the study, dizzy from his narrow escape.

The weather is beginning to turn and he can feel the bite of autumn in the wind as he sits on the railing of the balcony where he can overlook Rapunzel's archery practice. He stretches out his legs and leans his head back against the wall. Watching her from this far away is really pretty boring, but he doesn't trust _Walter_ any farther than he can throw him.

"How is she doing?"

He snaps his head around to see the king step onto the balcony. He hurries to stand, but the king waves him off with a gesture. "You look comfortable. Don't bother yourself."

"Thanks."

"So, how is she doing?"

"Pretty well, I think. At least she hasn't shot anyone today."

"Has she done that before?"

"No, but she's come close."

The king laughs. "Well that would be the captain's fault more than hers."

Eugene smirks and turns back to Rapunzel. The captain has his arms around her to adjust her posture. His smirk slips a bit.

"Do you know much about archery?" the king asks.

"I know that it hurts if you get hit."

"But you don't have any experience being the one to do the hitting."

"Once I grabbed an arrow from a quiver and threw it at someone." He mimes the appropriate arm gesture. "It didn't hurt him too bad, but it did distract him."

"Clever."

Eugene shrugs.

"I'm awful at archery. Everyone agrees. But the thing about being king is that no one wants to tell me how inept I am to my face."

Eugene laughs. "That's a nice perk."

"It is. One time I was meeting with the Earl of- oh." The king frowns, looking down at the practice area, his eyebrows drawing together harshly.

Eugene follows his gaze, and this is the point when he makes a fuss, because his world has stopped spinning and there, on the practice field, the captain is kissing Rapunzel.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Walter's mustache feels strange, almost suffocating, and causes her nose to wrinkle. But he seems to take the curling of her lip as some sort of invitation to force open her mouth and explore with his tongue. It's… different… strange… wriggly… wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. And now his arms are around her and instead of feeling nice, it feels constricting and suffocating. She forces a splayed hand against his chest, which would make Eugene pause, but the gesture is misinterpreted as Walter makes a small noise of pleasure and his fingers clench against the small of her back.

She wants it to stop. She compresses her shoulders to shrink in on herself, and with difficulty she tears her face away and stands, hunched, with her eyes squeezed closed and her brow draw together in hopes that if she doesn't look at him for a moment everything will be back to the way it was before. All the fear will dissipate. Her heart will stop quavering in a bid for escape.

"Zel? Is everything alright?"

She takes a deep, shuddering breath before looking up at him. He looks genuinely concerned, which settles the churning of her stomach just a fraction.

"I… Yes. I'm fine." He continues to look at her, as if waiting for her to say something else. "I'm sorry," she says.

He smiles down at her. "Don't be. I didn't mean to startle you by moving too fast."

She feels a bit sick but tries not to let it show on her face. She doesn't really know how successful she is. "Moving too fast" implies that they are moving and she doesn't think that she wants to go anywhere in that direction with Walter, no matter what the pace is, but telling him this will hurt his feelings, which is something she doesn't want to do. He's nice to her, and he likes her, that much is clear, and she likes him too, it's just that…

She doesn't know. It's all very confusing, and she's starting to feel overwhelmed. Her hand shakes against his chest and the reminder that he is still holding her is suddenly very frightening.

She takes a step back and he lets her go.

"I think that's enough for today," she says, forcing as much nonchalance into the words as she can.

"Alright." He smiles at her. It's a nice smile. Or it would be if it wasn't obscured by his mustache. The thought strikes her that Eugene's facial hair is by far superior.

She turns and heads back to the castle. Half way there she breaks into a run and she doesn't stop until she slides around the corner into the familiar hallway of the guest quarters.

She's brought up short as she comes face to face with Eugene as he shuts the door to his bedroom with a kind of finality that makes her jump. He gives her a look, full of some emotion she can't place and yet more closed than she's ever seen him. It's a look so strange that she instinctively takes a step backwards. He has changed clothes, back into his old Flynn Rider garb that's been sitting in his window seat for months, back into the blue-green vest and rough pants. He grips the satchel thrown over his shoulder as if he's afraid she might try to snatch it away. It bulges as though he's haphazardly thrown a great many things into it.

Her frayed nerves shrivel nearly to the point of panic. "Where are you going?"

He stares at her, all the muscles in his jaw pulled tight. "Away," he says, a bite to his voice. His eyes slip purposefully away from her as he walks forward and passes her at a brisk pace.

The blood drains from her face as she watches him walk away, an icy fear stabbing at her heart, breaking her to pieces. "No! No, you can't! You promised!"

He stops, both hands clenching into tight fists, and she takes the opportunity to run up and slip around to face him. She reaches for his arms, but he flinches away from her touch, leaving her hands suspended in the air.

"You promised you weren't going anywhere. You said you'd be here for me when I needed you."

There is too much intensity in his eyes. It makes her feel small. It almost makes her feel like she's done something wrong. His jaw works as if he's chewing his words thoroughly before spiting them at her.

She was right. He had promised.

_If we truly love her then we won't care if it will be returned._

God, he hates that he just remembered that.

"Fine," he snaps. "What is it you need?"

"I…" She swallows, realizing that she doesn't really know. "… Nothing."

"Great. I'll just wait here for you to come up with something."

With that he turns on his heel, stomps back to his room, and slams his door behind him. She stares at the empty space he's left behind as her heart refuses to beat. When it starts up again she bursts into tears and runs and runs and doesn't stop until she collapses on her bed in her room.

A few minutes later someone knocks at her door and she ignores them, having absolutely no desire to speak to anyone. She's vaguely aware that she's supposed to be in a history lesson, but she can't bring herself to care that she's being rude to her instructor. She doesn't think that she could hold herself together enough for lessons anyway. She would just be crying in front of someone, and she has learned that doing that makes people feel uncomfortable.

There's another knock at the door, but this time the door opens and the queen sweeps in, takes one look at Rapunzel, and immediately pulls the girl into her arms. The speed of her reactions and the complete lack of hesitation takes Rapunzel by surprise, and this new shock on top of all the others is the final crack in her tenuous grasp on self control. She completely breaks down, sobbing hysterically, her arms thrown around the queen's neck.

The queen doesn't say a word. She simply strokes her daughter's back in soothing, even circles and lets her cry. She doesn't try to get her to calm down. She doesn't tell her that the tears will spoil her complexion or stain her dress. She doesn't tell her to stop crying because it's not that bad and she is getting a headache. She just holds her. No one has done this for her before except Eugene, and the thought that he might never do it again just makes her cry harder.

Eventually the tears subside, not because she feels better, but because she's too exhausted to continue. She pulls back from the queen and brutally rubs at her eyes to remove the traces of her weakness.

"I'm sorry," she sniffs. "I've ruined your dress."

The queen looks down at her shoulder, now spotted and damp from Rapunzel's tears. She smiles tenderly, warmly, sadly, and brushes a few loose strands of hair behind Rapunzel's ear. "It's only a dress," she says.

"Really?" Surely the queen must be lying to make her feel better.

"I've got loads of dresses, and you can cry on any of them because I love you."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"That's what love is: holding someone while they cry."

Rapunzel stares at her while she processes this. If someone came to her and cried, she would hold them no matter who they were. But then again, she doesn't think that anyone would come to her for comfort. That thought makes her a bit sad. Pascal would probably come to her if he needed to cry, but he never seemed to need it. He is currently wrapped around her ankle, giving her a look of extreme concern.

But on the other hand, she wouldn't go to just anyone and cry on them. She had always tried not to cry in front of Gothel, preferring instead to hide in her room. And she wouldn't ever think of going to Walter, or most of her handmaidens, or even most of the thugs from the Snuggly Duckling.

She blinks up at her mother, biting at her lip. "I like crying on you," she admits.

The queen laughs. "Well I hope you don't _like_ crying. But if you have to cry, I'm here for you, and I'm glad I can bring you some comfort."

"You're here for me?"

"Always, my dearest."

"Oh!" She squeaks out another sob, and again throws her arms around her mother.

Eugene handles things a bit differently. He focuses on furiously pacing his room. His eyes fall on the framed picture of Pascal, and he walks over and takes it down so he doesn't have to look at it. He paces and paces until he realizes that he's pacing and that's stupid, and he drops into a chair to rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

He's not moping. He's planning. Sometimes he just has to sit and plan – plan out how he's going to murder the Captain of the Guards, how he's going to stab him, choke him, and light him on fire. But as much enjoyment as he gets from these plans (they were plans, not fantasies) what he really needs to focus on in how he's going to get away with it.

Maybe if he makes it look like an accident, but he can't think of a way to do that and still have it be brutal enough to be satisfying. Maybe he can challenge him to a duel. The upper classes tend to overlook murder in the name of honor, so he could possibly get away with that. And after all, he had knocked the man unconscious with a cast iron skillet once, so he can definitely do more damage if he has something that's sharp. Maybe he can just outright kill him and then go back to being an outlaw. That option is feeling really good at the moment, except for the fact that he is an idiot, who wants to stick around and be stepped on by the princess, because he promised her that he would do that and for some reason he suddenly keeps his promises. Idiot.

Seriously, he's an idiot. In love with a princess? What was he thinking?

Teaching her about sex so that she could use her new found skills on someone else? He wants to punch something, preferably something that resembles the captain's face.

He broods over these things for far too long – and by broods he means plans. And since he hasn't really gotten anywhere with his planning, it's probably about time that he went and kicked _dearest Walter_ in the head.

He doesn't really give a shit that he has become a big, jealous monster. He doesn't really care that Rapunzel won't approve or that the king and queen won't approve. He doesn't even really care that he'll be basically walking straight back into the dungeons.

Rapunzel might even truly like the guy. She might not have minded having someone kiss her. She might have even liked it. (Shudder.) She might just not know about monogamous relationships, because the idea of him explaining that to her is just ludicrous. She might not know better, but that dick of a captain sure as hell should. He should know better than to take advantage of Blondie's naiveté.

Any irony in this situation is lost on Eugene.

As he sees it, this is just one last attack against Flynn Rider's character and this one is over the line. Using Rapunzel against him is wrong, and he's not going to put up with it. He pushes his sleeves up, even though they're already rolled up to the elbow, and marches into the courtyard that separates the castle from the guard tower.

He is grabbed by the back of his shirt and jerked backwards off his feet.

"Hey! Let go!"

Back in the shadow of the castle, he is dropped to the ground, and he looks up at his attacker with a groan and a rub of his skinned elbow. It's Maximus.

"What do you think you're doing?"

_Snort._

"That is definitely not an answer."

Max drops his big, horsey nose in front of Eugene's face and gives him a glare and a not so gentle shove back in the direction of the castle.

"Back off. This doesn't concern you."

_Oh really?_

"Yes. I'm going to murder him and I'm going to enjoy it."

_Eye roll_.

"Shut up. There's nothing you can do to stop me."

Maximus highly doubts that and grabs Eugene's shirt again to drag him away from his arch enemy.

"Let go. I like this shirt and you're going to rip it."

Maximus lets go of his shirt, and instead flops down to pin him under his bulk.

"I… can't… breathe…"

_Don't care._

"Come… on!"

Maximus shifts ever so slightly to allow Eugene a little bit of wiggle room, but not enough that he can escape. He's forced to lie there on his back and stare up at the sky. After a few minutes of this he's calmed down enough to try to reason with the horse again.

"Look, I know that old geezer is your best friend or something-"

_Snort._

"He's not?"

_No._

"Then why do you care?"

This gets him a completely blank look.

Eugene blinks at him. "Is it because… you're worried about me going to jail?"

Maximus huffs out a sigh and shakes his head before he decides to just get it over with and explain it to him. He does this by miming the motion of stabbing Eugene in the chest several times, which is really rather impressive.

"You're… wait, seriously? You're worried that prick is going to kill me?"

The horse nods begrudgingly, as if it causes him pain to admit it.

"Wow, buddy, that's really-"

_We're not talking about this._

"Ah. Right."

Maximus doesn't let him up for another twenty minutes, and when he does, he makes sure that Eugene realizes that he's going to be watching him, so there's really no point in even trying.

Eugene decides that the horse is insane, but he really doesn't want to be sat on again.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Eugene has trouble sleeping. His sheets are cold and it's too quiet without the little wheezing snore that Pascal always makes. He keeps rolling over only for his arm to land on a big empty space. He wakes naturally at four in the morning, when Pascal would usually wake him up, and he realizes that he has sprawled out over the entire bed, as if he was searching for her in his sleep. He presses his face into his pillow and groans loudly.

Rapunzel can't sleep either. Pascal is not big or warm enough to emulate Eugene, so she turns one of her pillows sideways and snuggles up against it. Strange that she should become so used to him so quickly. She never used to feel alone before. There are too many thoughts running around her head, none of them standing still long enough for her to look at them, to tease them apart. It's like being attacked by bees.

It's almost dawn when she gives up on sleep and rolls over to rest her chin on her pillow and look Pascal straight in the face.

"Eugene tried to leave," she whispers. "I don't know why."

Pascal cocks his head to the side and makes a soft, comforting cooing noise.

"He must not be happy here." She bites at her lower lip. "He's used to having all sorts of exciting adventures, but now he's trapped here in the castle where no one but us really likes him."

Pascal nuzzles her hand with the side of his face.

"I shouldn't really keep him here if he's that unhappy, should I? It's not good to lock someone away when they want to be free."

The chameleon's eyes grow wider and he opens his mouth as if to protest, but then promptly shuts it.

"And I really shouldn't make him stay if he's angry with me." She sighs and absently curls Pascal's tail around her finger. "I just don't know what I did wrong. Do you know?"

He shakes his head.

"Maybe he just doesn't like me anymore. But… I don't know what changed. He used to like me, right? And I don't know what I'd do if he left. I'd be lonely."

Loneliness is a new feeling for Rapunzel, one that is worse than most of the other feelings she's encountered lately.

"I wish I could talk to him, but he said he didn't want to talk to me unless I needed something."

Pascal makes a whirring noise and nudges at her hand, encouraging her to get moving.

"I don't think this counts. I just want to talk. I don't _need_ to talk."

Pascal rolls his eyes.

"He's already mad at me. I don't think he'd like it if I woke him up. You know how he likes to sleep."

Pascal has to give her that one.

She groans and drops her head into her pillow, muffling her words. "He's the one I want to cry on most."

Pascal stares at her prone figure for a moment, his eyes twitching back and forth with concern. He wants to help, he needs to help, because when she's in pain like this it feels like he's been kicked in the ribs. It's sharp and radiating and deep inside the worried knot of his little chest. The color begins to drain from his face. A moment later he begins to cough.

Eugene is pulled out of his half-sleep by a bang against his door and a feminine squeal of surprise. He locked his door and pushed the dresser in front of it again, just so she can't try something like this. The balcony door is also locked and blocked by one of the big arm chairs. He narrows his eyes at the door and waits for her to try to pick the locks. Instead she does something that she's never done before.

She knocks. Loudly. And there's something frantic about her voice when she shouts his name and raps against the door again, something frantic that pushes him out of bed to let her in.

"Eugene!" She shouts, throwing herself forward, her face a mess of tears, her eyes wide with panic. "He's sick, Eugene! He's sick and I don't know what to do!"

She thrusts out her small, cupped hands to show him the limp form of her chameleon, whose body has turned a chalky shade of grey, whose eyes are lidded and glazed. He lies on his side, his breath coming in quick puffs that have his lungs and his neck visibly pulsating in a rhythm too fast to be healthy.

Eugene reaches out and takes the chameleon from her with the upmost care. He and Pascal have been through a lot, and if he's honest with himself he's grown fond of the little guy. Seeing him like this makes his chest ache and his face contort into a frown.

"I don't know what to do," she says, choking back a sob and anxiously running her hands through her hair, forgetting for a moment that it's no longer its old length.

The truth is that Eugene doesn't know what to do either. How do you care for a sick chameleon? What even makes a chameleon sick? And how long do they usually live anyway? It couldn't be all that long, and - if he did his math right - Pascal is getting on in years. He swallows down the chilling feeling that Pascal's time might be near.

He moves to the washroom to get him a bowl of water. Lizards drink water, right? And that might very well make the little guy feel better.

God, it would devastate Rapunzel if Pascal died. The thought makes him feel sick, first as he thinks of how broken she'll be, and then again because now he's thinking about Rapunzel and that topic is still raw.

He sets the water dish down by the fire and holds the frog so he can take a drink. When it becomes clear that Pascal is too weak to do so, Eugene grimaces and sets him down carefully on a throw pillow and tries to coax the fire back to life. Lizards like being warm, right?

After this he can't think of anything else to do and sits down on the floor and stares at the sick little thing in disbelief. Rapunzel slips down next to him and pulls his arm into a hug as she presses her cheek against his shoulder. He stiffens, but she doesn't seem to notice.

"Will he be alright?"

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, he'll be fine." She looks up at him and for a moment their eyes meet and she offers him the smallest of teary smiles before he clears his throat and looks away and throws them into a tense silence.

Pascal's eyes blink wearily.

"Why'd you bring him here?" he asks. "Why not to a doctor or a vet or… one of your new friends?" He can't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"I don't know," she whispers. "I'm so scared, and you're so good at taking care of things."

He snorts, not really knowing if he should be flattered or feel like she's taking advantage of him.

The side of Pascal's neck continues to jump.

"Eugene?"

"Yeah?"

She takes a deep breath, her breasts pressing against his arm. "This is the worst day ever."

"You think so?"

She nods. "I guess tomorrow might be worse."

"Why's that?"

Her voice drops even lower, as if hoping that the chameleon can't hear her, as if whispering it will make it untrue. "Because Pascal might die, and you're going to leave, and I'll be left all alone."

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "He's not going to die. I told you I wouldn't leave. And there's not much chance you'll be alone for long."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh please."

She pulls away from him to look up into his face, what she finds there is concerning. "You two are my best friends. And I…" She trails off and shakes her head.

"You what?"

"…I want you to be happy. If – if your dream has changed and you want to leave then- then I think you should do what makes you happy… even it if makes me sad."

He stares down at her for a minute. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No! I want you to be with me! And I'm sorry that I haven't been spending as much time with you as I should, and I'm sorry that you hate it here. Maybe- maybe we could run away, we could go somewhere and have an adventure and we could be outlaws and- and-"

"Whoah, whoah! What?" He turns to take hold of her shoulders and give her a very confused look, because this is honestly the last thing he was expecting.

Her eyes brim over with tears. "I don't know," she whimpers. "I've had a very bad day." She throws herself into his arms and weeps and all he can think to do in his confusion is hold her and run a hand through her hair.

He can only make out bits and pieces of the sobbing ramble against his chest. "It was horrible. He kissed me and it was horrible, and then you were mad at me and you wanted to leave, and then my mother started telling me about love and I started thinking and I think that the only love I have really is for my mother and you and Pascal, and it's just all really confusing, and now you don't like me and Pascal is going to die!"

"Ooook," he says, trying not to get his hopes up because it's entirely possible that he hadn't heard her right and she just rambled something about Maximus instead of what he thinks she said, but what he thinks she said suddenly makes him feel lighter, fresher, buoyant. "Let's start with that horrible kiss. Now what happened? Was it really that awful?" It must have been, as she's crying about it.

"Soooo bad," she moans. He resists the urge to grin and pump his fist into the air. "He just came at me, and it was all _wet_, and it just wouldn't stop."

"So you wanted him to stop and he wouldn't?"

"Yes! And now I don't know what to do!"

Bad-freakin-ass!

Except not, because molesting his girlfriend is not ok.

"Don't worry about it, alright?" He presses his lips to her forehead. Suddenly he feels like he can take on a whole army of bitter, handsy guards. "I'll take care of it." And he'll enjoy taking care of it too. He's going to beat the man senseless, not because he's jealous, but because the creep dared to hurt Rapunzel. He's going to stand up for her honor and protect her and feel like he's actually doing something productive.

"That's that settled," he says. "So let's move on to the part where… you love me?"

She nods, lowering her gaze and sniffling.

"Seriously?"

"I think so. I mean, I don't know, but you're my best friend and I don't know what I'd do without you, and if you really want to leave then I'll go with you, or we can change things here so that you like it better."

"Shh, no, you're not going anywhere. Your place is here."

"But where's your place?"

"Next to you," he says. "Sorry, Goldie, but you're stuck with me."

She stares as if she doesn't trust herself to believe him.

He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I was having a bad day too."

She offers him a small smile. "I told you not to freak out."

He laughs. "Yeah. You did."

"Are you going to keep freaking out on me?"

"I'll try real hard not to."

"Alright."

"Ok."

"I love you, Eugene."

"Love you too, Blondie."

He rubs the tears from her cheeks with a thumb, and she chokes out a muffled little giggle. He wants nothing more in the world but to kiss her (well, maybe a little more than that), but her jagged breathing and the redness of her cheeks and eyes reminds him that there's still one problem they have to face. He sighs with the knowledge that this one won't be as easy.

"And as for Pasc-"

He freezes.

He stares down at the throw pillow, where the chameleon is resting fitfully, back to his comfortable shade of bright green.

"What the hell?"

Pascal looks up at him with an obnoxious smirk, and _winks_.

Eugene can't move for a second, as if his brain just can't process what's happening, as if all the gears in his mind have stopped turning. Then things click together, and Eugene explodes. "You lying, manipulative little fucker! Do you know how worried we were about you?"

The frog rolls his eyes and gives him a look that says, _yeah, right, soooo worried . _ Then before he goes back to sleep he gives him a smirk that says, _you owe me._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Eugene sleeps like the dead, and only wakes up when a throat is purposefully cleared above him. He opens his eyes to see a figure looking down at him, upside-down from his perspective.

The king arches an eyebrow at him.

Eugene blinks twice. "I'm on the floor, aren't I?"

The king nods. Eugene flexes his arms and wrinkles his forehead enough to get back his bearings while not breaking eye contact.

"And there's a frog on my face."

The king nods.

"And Blondie's using me as a pillow."

The king arches an eyebrow.

"Is she drooling?"

The king's eyes narrow as he inspects Rapunzel's face. "Yes," he says.

"Fantastic."

"Do you care to explain this, Mr. Fitzherbert?"

"I-" Eugene thinks about this for a second before deciding that "the frog was faking it" most likely won't go over well. "No."

"You sure about that?"

"Umm…" The king gives him a look that says that he probably should give an explanation a try. "Uh, the frog was faking it?"

The king only looks confused for a moment before he shakes his head, deciding it's not worth it. "I came by to inform you that the Captain of the Guards has submitted his resignation effective as of noon today. After that point he will be a normal citizen."

It takes a moment for Eugene to process this. "… So after noon I can punch him and not get executed?"

The king shrugs. "If you'd like. I would hope you have better ways to spend your afternoon."

"No, my schedule's free."

"We'll have to change that. You know, I think we should go through all the laws and iron out all these double standards. You were scheduled for execution, but got off because you saved my daughter. How many other men in the dungeon would do something so noble if given the chance? Then if you attack the Captain of the Guards you'll be thrown in prison, but if you attack a normal man you won't. Either way it's still assault. And then Walter gets fired for kissing my daughter while you…" He gives the girl passed out against Eugene's chest a pointed look.

"I'd never do anything she didn't want."

"Am I supposed to be impressed with that? That should be the norm for civilized behavior, rather than an uncommon occurrence."

"But that prick guard-"

"-has been fired."

Eugene snaps his mouth shut as the king begins to mumble absently to himself, "I think I'll start with the assault laws, can't have people attacking one another no matter how little clout they have. Won't be able to get around to it until at least Tuesday. I have to find a new Captain of the Guard after all."

"You could always go for Maixmus," Eugene suggests.

"The horse?"

"Yeah. He's the best law enforcement you've got."

"Mr. Fitzherbert" the king sighs, "…Eugene… I like you. I know that the two of you come as a set, and I've started thinking of you like the son I just recently found. So you really need to quit acting like an idiot, so I don't have to do anything to you that I don't want to do."

"Sorry."

"Hmm. Anyway, I just came to tell you that. And to tell you that it is eleven forty-five and my daughter has missed all her morning lessons."

"Oops."

"Just make sure she's on time to her afternoon lessons. I think they're learning about scansion today, and you know how frightfully important that is."

Eugene can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not, and he sits for a minute in thought as the king leaves, shutting the door behind him. Staring up at the ceiling, he starts feeling the warm fuzzies creeping into his chest.

The king thinks of him as a son.

He grins like an idiot as he dislodges Pascal from his face and looks down at Rapunzel. Thankfully she doesn't look overly sexy, with her face slack, her mouth hanging open, and both arms thrown at odd angles. He's also glad that she's wearing one of her more modest nightgowns and that both his hands are placed in reasonable spots on her back. It really doesn't look as though they got up to much, which is good considering the unexpected company, but also disappointing because he's heard that make-up sex is fantastic. He wouldn't know as he's never made amends with a girl before.

"Hey, Sunshine," he whispers, shaking her awake. "Time for lunch."

"Lunch?" she mumbles.

"Yeah. It's that meal you eat between breakfast and dinner."

"Mmm." She snuggles closer against his chest, rubbing her soft cheek against his skin before turning to leave little, drowsy kisses against his solar plexus. His eyes close as she trails down across his abs, his breath more forced and his body stiffening with each passing press of her lips. She nuzzles against him, resting her head in the more fleshy skin of his stomach, and he groans as he realizes that she was simply searching for a more comfortable spot.

She looks up at him, her clearing eyes alight with curiosity and discovery that she can so easily elicit such a noise. It's a look that will launch a thousand ships and destroy him completely. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers her lips once more against his stomach, and the heat in her eyes and the heat of her tongue make him groan again and drop his head backwards onto the floor. He feels her smile against his navel as she nuzzles his thin trail of hair and places a heated kiss low against the joint of his hip, sending shivers up his spine, to his toes, to his groin. He gasps as she fingers the waistline of his pants.

"Whoa. Whoa, whoa." He sits up and pulls her to a stop and she blinks hooded, darkened eyes at him, and the words to say that they should stop, that he separately promised both her parents, that he has things to do today and doesn't want to be spent, choke in his throat. He swallows and simply gasps, "Door," before he scrambles to his feet, throws the lock, and haphazardly shoves his dresser back in front of it. He flops back down into his original spot, and pulls her face up for a breathless series of kisses.

She determinedly moves from his mouth to his neck, to his shoulder, to his chest, crawling down his body and shifting to settle between his legs, winding him tighter with every fleeting brush of her lips.

Her breast brushes his heated cock and he curses under his breath, one hand finding its way between her shoulder blades to pull her closer. She forms a delicious little noise at the contact and pauses a moment, her breath hot and damp against his skin, before she slowly repeats the movement, the muscles in her back writhing seductively. He shifts, pressing himself between her breasts and rocking his hips along with her next wave of movements, each new burst of friction making him more dizzy.

She stifles a moan, one hand splayed against the floor the other hungrily gripping his side, both trembling. She presses as close to him as she can, her body between his thighs, her cheek against his waist, trying to get closer, to sink into him, but it's not working, she's not satisfied. Then her hands are on his pants, pulling them down, and before he can yelp out her name she's flung herself back against him with a groan, his whole length flush between her breasts. And it's skin against skin and his hand in her hair and he's gasping for breath and she slips her tongue into his navel.

She abruptly slinks lower so her chest presses against his balls, and she drops her lips and kisses the very tip of his cock. And it's so chaste, and so unexpected, and so very _her_ that he explodes, eyes rolling, heart pounding, jaw clenched into a grimace. His groin clenches. His back arches. Everything he is drains away to leave him blissfully exhausted and light headed and mostly naked, and when the great tattoo of his heartbeat fades from his ears and his vision clears, he looks down at her to see her startled, green eyes and her face splashed with ejaculate.

"Shit, Blondie, I'm sorry," he pants, guiding her up to wipe her face clean as delicately as he can given his fumbling fingers. The tip of her tongue slips out to run across her marked lips, and he stares in dumbstruck awe as she tastes him, blushes, and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a slow, deep kiss.

* * *

**AN:** Hey, folks. I'm going on vacation for the holidays and I'm not going to have a lot of time for writing. Updates are going to slow, but they will return in due course. I've left you on a smutty high note so you will hopefully forgive me. I'd also like to take this opportunity to say how great you all are for reading and reviewing and favoring and recommending this. Seriously. Cheers!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Eugene has an extra bounce in his step as he strolls out toward the guard tower. His hair is still damp from his rushed bath, and even though he's a bit concerned that he might miss _Walter_ entirely he can't wipe the smirk off his face so he doesn't even bother to try. As it so happens, he's not too far behind the ex-captain and he catches sight of him a half block ahead, walking away from the guard tower, down the street, into town.

Eugene's grin grows to the point where it can only be described as shit eating, and he picks up his pace to catch him. "Hey," he shouts. "Hold up a sec."

The captain looks over his shoulder and comes to a stop, frowning as he sets eyes on his least favorite person on earth. He's out of his bright red uniform again, and even though he's dressed quite nicely and even though he is still carrying himself with dignity, he seems somehow shabbier, shorter, less intimidating. He drops the bag he was carrying full of his meager personal effects onto the ground, and plants his hands on his hips.

"What do you want, Rider? Come to gloat?"

"I'm mostly here to kick your ass for trying something with my girl," Eugene says with a smirk. "Gloating's a bonus."

Before Walter can get out his derisive snort, Eugene throws a punch hard and fast and aimed at his face, which the captain grabs and blocks before throwing a punch of his own. With a twist and a spin, Eugene avoids the blow entirely and rams his elbow backwards into the captain's stomach, causing the man to stagger back a few scuffling steps with an oooff!

They stare at each other for a moment as the people in the street around them pause in their daily activities and watch the scene in awed, tense silence. Eugene smirks and the captain's eyes narrow.

With a growl, the captain flies forward, years of battle training and war tactics and a championship boxing title on his side. He rails at Eugene with a flurry of punches, powerful and swift and vicious, but Eugene taps into his own experience as easily as slipping into cool water, and he ducks and dodges, light on his feet, bending and twisting to avoid most blows and block the rest with his forearms, which sting with every hit until his reddened flesh turns raw.

He throws his head and shoulders back and to the right, and the captain's fist sails past his cheek. With a series of quick steps Eugene manages a glancing blow against the other man's kidney, then with another quick dodge he moves in for a choke hold, only to be head butted away. Pain blossoms across his forehead and the captain lands a solid blow to his stomach, which hurts like hell and would probably make him lose his lunch had he eaten any. But he holds his own and blocks the next punch, not giving into pain or doubling over or showing weakness other than to grunt as the air is expelled from his lungs.

The captain slides a half step back, then throws a roundhouse kick at Eugene's face. Mixed martial arts was not what Eugene was expecting, but he manages to grab the leg with both hands and dampen the blow enough so that he is only pushed violently to the side, his heels scraping into the ground, raising a cloud of dust. He has the bright idea that he should twist the leg he's holding to bring his opponent down, but the captain is ahead of him, already throwing another punch, and Eugene has to drop his advantage to protect himself, slipping easily back onto the defensive.

And then he sees his chance. Bob left, bob right, and –

"Bam!" he shouts as an uppercut makes contact with the captain's overly pronounced chin. And Bam! A left hook to the nose.

Eugene does a fantastically obnoxious gloating victory dance as the captain splurts and snorts blood out of his nose.

His eyes widen and his dance ends abruptly as the captain bellows with rage, throws himself forward, and tackles Eugene to the ground. They grapple with one another, rolling across the dusty street, all form and style abandoned as they brawl, fueled by righteous anger. One of the captain's hands clenches around Eugene's throat and he grits his teeth and yanks the man's hair and punches him in the side again and again and again as dark spots pop before his eyes.

And then something grabs the back of his shirt, the captain is yanked away, and Eugene's vision and airways slowly clear enough to see that the townspeople have decided that enough was enough. He coughs and shrugs off the hands restraining him so he can cringe and rub his throat. Just out of reach, the former guard glares at the two townspeople holding him back and starts to wipe at his nose, leaving behind a smear of blood.

"Good Lord, Rider. Can't you control yourself for five minutes?"

"Not when someone makes a move on Blondie just because they've got some stupid vendetta against me."

"You think I spent time with her just to get to _you_? Just to make you jealous? You're insane."

"You tried to steal my girl and rub it in my face."

The men who had pulled the combatants apart shift awkwardly, ready to grab the thief turned princess' lover and the disgraced Captain of the Guards, but unsure if they should be listening in on something so private. They silently agree that they should stay put. Not only can they break up the violence, but they'll have a great story to tell later.

"Oh, grow up!" the captain shouts. "Not everything is about you. I spent time with _your girl_ because I like her. She's sweet and kind and funny. She lights up a whole room just by smiling. I would spend time with her even if you had never been born. Rescuing her from you was just icing on the cake."

"Rescuing her? Seriously? Is that what you've been up to?"

"I know you, Rider," the captain hisses. "I've been chasing you for three years. I've seen the aftermath of your little adventures. I've met the men you've stolen from, the men you've backstabbed, the women you've used and ditches the next morning, the bar owners and stable hands who you sweet talked out of paying, and even the black market contacts you've swindled, and I've seen your complete lack of remorse. I know you. I know that you are a dishonest criminal who is not to be trusted, and I will not have you hurt the royal family, this country, or Rapunzel."

Eugene stares at him, his face slackening and his stomach knotting with guilt. No, it couldn't be guilt because he doesn't feel sorry for anything he's done. It must be something else – something else that makes him drop eye contact and lower his voice. "I've changed."

The captain snorts. "Right. Of course. You met just the right girl and she changed your malicious, deceitful ways overnight. You saw the light and now you're on the straight and narrow. An upright citizen. Please excuse me if I don't buy that load of a fairytale."

The knot in his stomach tightens to the point where he feels a bit sick. Must be from that punch. He shrugs. "It's a miracle."

The captain rolls his eyes. "I've no idea how you've managed to fool absolutely everyone this time. It makes me sick."

"You know what? Think what you want. I'm done talking about my past with you. That's not what this is about. This is about you attacking Blondie."

The captain blinks at him in confusion. "Attack? What are you talking about? I would never attack her."

"Attack. Molest. Generally freak her out. Whatever you want to call it doesn't really matter. You upset her and now you have to deal with me. Ready for round two, or do you need a mop for your nose?"

The captain doesn't move, holding perfectly still as he allows his mind to inspect this new concept, letting it sink in, trying to ascertain if it is true. "I- I upset her?"

The look of surprise and concern in his eyes is so genuine that it gives Eugene pause. "…Yeah."

"But I thought…" the captain's eyes flick back and forth across the ground at his feet, as if trying to replay his encounters with Rapunzel, the time they shared, the feelings lit in his chest. "I thought she liked me," he murmurs, more to himself than to Eugene.

Ouch. Eugene sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "She probably does. She likes everyone, you know. But not like that. She's vulnerable and naïve and you took advantage."

"I did nothing of the sort. She was sending me signals."

Eugene bristles slightly, but lets it pass. "No. She wasn't."

The captain's head shoots up to give him the full force of a glare. "Yes. She was. I know it. You're lying. Again."

"No."

"You're lying and that's how you convinced the king to relieve me of my duty."

"I didn't know you'd been fired until he told me this morning. Wish I did, but I had nothing to do with it. The king made that decision for himself after Goldie spent the evening crying on her mother because she was so scared and confused."

The captain's stony face falters. "I- I made her cry?" He stares up at the castle, almost as if looking for Rapunzel so she can reassure him that this is all just Rider and one of his lies. Of course all he sees is the motionless facade of stone posed against a cloudless sky. "I never meant to hurt her."

"Well, it is easy to do," Eugene admits. He doesn't know why he admits it. A tingle of pity starts to nag at him before he shakes it off. _Walter's_ a prick and he doesn't feel warm and fuzzy enough to go looking for his humanity.

The captain thinks for a few moments, then takes a deep breath. "Is she alright?"

"…Yeah. She will be."

The captain nods absently. "Good." He dusts himself off, and steps forward to pick up his discarded bag. The townspeople near him twitch, but he waves them off with an easy hand movement.

"I hope for her sake that you have had a miraculous transformation. I really do hope it's true. But in my line of work I've come to believe that there are no miracles."

With that he shoulders his bag, turns on his heel, and walks away.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A stranger wakes Eugene up at the crack of dawn. Well, not exactly the crack of dawn, because that describes the point in time when the sun first breaks over the horizon. This is before that, when the sky takes on the depressing, gray hue of night's end.

Eugene cracks open an eye. "Can I help you?"

"I have been sent to help you prepare for your appointments this morning, Mr. Fitzherbert," the stranger says in a businesslike, clipped tone.

"What appointments?" He tries to remember if there's something going on. Maybe he made plans with Goldie earlier? No, she would have reminded him when she left, which was only about an hour ago. He can still feel the phantom impression of her bare arm across his chest, the press of her breasts against his side, the heat of her sleepy little kisses against his collar bone. Good thing this guy hadn't shown up too much earlier – not that an earlier time in the morning was even conceivable.

"The appointments arranged for you by the king so that you can be prepared to assist him in the Reservoir Reconstruction Meeting on Friday."

"Reservoir Reconstruction?"

"Yes, Mr. Fitzherbert. Do you have any preference for what you would like to wear today?"

"Uh, not really. Whatever's easiest."

The stranger nods and retreats to the closet, while Eugene pieces together that he must be a page or something. He sits up and scratches his head with a yawn.

"This might be a stupid question," he calls, "but what exactly is Reservoir Reconstruction? And why would the king think I know anything about it?"

"I don't know, Mr. Fitzherbert," the page says, reappearing from the closet with an overstated blue outfit that Eugene had noticed, but never worn. "I assume that they will tell you during your appointments today."

This turns out to be true as Eugene is plopped down in a study with two strict instructors that he's never seen before and Phil, his etiquette tutor. They all seem very stressed and Eugene quickly figures out that he is in no way prepared for the big meeting on Friday, and these three guys are having to scramble to whip him into shape. So they're multitasking, all three of them teaching at once, which is so confusing at first that Eugene can only sit with his mouth hanging open as his wide eyes dart back and forth from speaker to speaker. Phil slaps him upside the head and tells him to quit gaping.

The etiquette tutor is there to teach him to sit up straight, not fiddle with his sleeves (even though the brocade is very distracting,) drum his fingers, yawn, or speak. Since they're so pressed for time, Phil figures that they should just get him looking like he knows what he's doing, which should work as long as he doesn't open his mouth.

The thinnest of the instructors has arms and fingers as spindly and fluid as an insect as he draws diagrams across great sheets of paper, explaining the complicated political relationships between all the men who will be attending the meeting. It sounds like a mine field and for a moment Eugene thinks that Phil might have a point about staying quiet and not getting involved. This person has this agenda and will push it no matter what. This second person is easily befriended by talking about horses. This third person hates this other person because of a duel eight years ago involving blah blah blahblahblah. This person is slow. This person is rich. This person is that person's estranged half brother.

Eugene groans, crossing his arms over his chest, and mumbles, "Yeah, I know that one."

"Posture!" Phil shouts. "And don't mumble!"

The shortest and roundest of the men turns out to be an engineer, who is there to explain absolutely everything there is to know about dams. How they work, how they're built, their economic and ecological impact on the surrounding area, and the devastation caused by the recent dam collapse.

_Oh,_ Eugene thinks. _Reservoir Reconstruction. That's what this is about._ He decides that this must be the king's idea of a joke, and somewhere the man is probably snickering uncontrollably. Well, at least someone's getting a laugh out of his near death experience, and - considering how upset the engineer is by the calamity of it all - the king might be the only one.

They keep him there all morning. Then all afternoon. Then most of the evening, until Goldie shows up and says that he's needed for dinner. He loves Goldie, what with her rescuing him and looking pretty and bringing him to where the food is. He grins at her, then smirks at his instructors and strolls out the door.

His back is aching. He always considered his posture to be pretty good, but after sitting ram rod straight for twelve hours he thinks that maybe it's not as great as he thought. Bah. No. That's nonsense. He's awesome.

The king looks far too pleased with himself at dinner, and the queen looks mildly interested as to why he's dressed so nicely, but neither one of them say anything about it.

His instructors gave him homework in the form of a book about dam construction, which is full of equations and figures and diagrams, which is not his thing, so he allows most of it to go over his head. Once he falls asleep, Rapunzel slips the book from his hands and pours over it enthusiastically, her eyes and shoulders growing more and more tired as she shifts the book closer and closer to her face in the waning candle light while the night wears on and Eugene and Pascal sleep.

The next day they do it again, only this time he's wearing something red and it's raining outside, leaving little rivulets against the window. In his boredom, he watches the drops skip and flow down the glass until Phil yells at him to pay attention.

His reading that night is "The Nobility of Corona, eighth edition," which is even less his thing, so he doesn't even bother to crack open. Rapunzel doesn't either as she's already read it and memorized long sections.

His shoulders ache less the next day, and the focus of his education changes from the ins and outs of what's going on to how to sound like he's intelligent. This actually proves to be the more difficult task.

He needs to say things that are factually correct. He needs to say things that are factually correct, and are also not going to rub anyone the wrong way. Without the sarcasm. That are basically what whoever he's talking to wants to hear. Unless what they want to hear goes against what the king wants to hear.

"So what does the king want to hear?" he asks.

"I'm not sure yet. You'll have to figure that out during the meeting."

"Great," he says. "So I'm not allowed to disagree with the king ever?"

"_You're_ not."

"At least not yet."

"Teaching you how to politely disagree with people comes later. You're not ready. Maybe next week."

It sounds like it's going to be the most exciting and productive meeting ever.

"Why does he want me to go to this stupid thing anyway?" he complains that night as Blondie reaches up to massage the kinks out of the back of his neck with her lithe fingers. He moans and rests his forehead against hers, not ever wanting her to stop.

"You're smart and you'll have a different perspective."

"I'm not that smart and I'm not supposed to voice a dissenting opinion."

She shrugs. "Maybe you're not supposed to, but you will anyway. He knows that or he wouldn't have invited you."

"It's less an invite and more an order."

"Oh, stop whining. You're actually involved for once and you have something to do that's not haunting around the castle or getting into fist fights."

He cracks one eye open at her, and her fingers pause in their movements as she gives him a look that very clearly says, _bitch, please_.

He closes his eye again and skirts right over the part where she tells him that she's disappointed in him or whatever. "You're right. Having something to do is nice. Even if it's something amazingly lame."

She starts to rub his neck again. "Just don't hurt anyone at the meeting."

"I make no promises."

"Violence is not the answer, Eugene."

"Look who's talking! I've got three cracks in my skull that say your motto has nothing to do with non-violence."

She pouts and runs a hand up through his hair. It feels nice – especially as she presses closer to him to stretch out her long, pale arm. "Does it still hurt?"

"Terribly," he hums, wrapping both arms possessively around her waist, the cool silk of her nightdress contrasting exquisitely against his flushed muscles.

"Hmm." Her eyes flutter, and she brings her full lips to within a breath of his own. Her voice drops to a chocolatey smooth purr. "Anything I can do to make it better?"

"Mmm." The tips of his fingers rub coiling figures against her side, and she moves against him in response, a rise of her chest, her stomach, her hips. Her leg slides around his waist, pulling him against her, holding him close, holding him tight, trusting and intimate and letting him feel every inch of her, every movement of her diaphragm, every pulse through her veins. He brushes his lips against hers, just enough to make her eyes slip closed, just enough to make her shudder in anticipation. Then he whispers, his breath warm against her skin, his lips brushing hers with every slow, purposeful syllable.

"I guess you _could_ get me an ice pack."

She blinks at him once. Twice.

He smirks at her.

"Eugene!" She shoves him away, and rolls over in an exaggerated huff, while he laughs and pulls her close again, her back against his chest, her head tucked against his shoulder, their fingers intertwined.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Eugene's collar is too tight, and resisting the urge to tug at it – which he has been told again and again and again not to do – is making him feel hot and twitchy. Leaning against the wall and looking cool while he scopes out the other people as they arrive for the dam meeting sounds like a good idea and would probably calm him down, but he's not supposed to slouch or casually lean against walls, and Phil told him that the way he sizes people up makes them feel uncomfortable and makes him look untrustworthy. He debates for a moment whether it's better to look untrustworthy or to look awkward.

He's leaning towards untrustworthy.

"Pst." He turns to see Goldie sidling up next to him, her wide eyes taking in all the meeting attendants in all their puffed up finery. "This is exciting!" she squeaks in something between a squeal and a whisper that only she can pull off.

"I guess," he shrugs. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming to this." Oh, please let her come to this. It would make the whole thing bearable.

"No, I just came to check on you."

Rats.

"And now that you've checked on me, how do you think I'm doing?"

She contemplates him for a moment before saying, "Stiff."

He snorts under his breath.

"Do you know who everyone is?" she asks.

He returns to his completely un-sketchy surveillance of the men around him, all talking in small groups and occasionally laughing in an over-acted way. "Yeah, so far I do."

"Who's that?" she asks, nodding her head towards a very fat man in purple with a bald head and flushed cheeks.

"That is Lord Percival. He owns the land that until a few months ago was a lake."

"And who's that?"

"That is Master Dugan, a royal engineer."

"And who's that?"

"That's… hold on, are you quizzing me?"

She blushes and shrugs. "Just a bit."

"Sneaky.'"

"Just trying to help. I've been working at memorizing names and faces around here longer than you have."

"I know." Honestly, it's weird for her to know something he doesn't, as it's usually the other way around. She's usually the one that needs help. The vulnerability in this situation irks him as much as his collar, and the prospect that Blondie doesn't really need him any more makes him feel uncomfortable. He shrugs the thought off. It's good that she needs him less, it means she's finally coming into her own, which is most definitely a good thing.

"Oh," she hisses, trying to duck out of sight a bit, but not really succeeding, and not really wanting to as she wants to keep staring. "It's that man who has your nose."

"Don't remind me."

"He's coming this way."

"Fantastic."

Lord Wesley hurries towards them, looking as though he's trying very hard to contain his excitement. He's a slender man and a bit fidgety, giving him the look of a sapling about to be blown free of its roots in a storm. As he bows to the princess, Eugene notes that he and Lord Wesley have the exact same color hair although Wesley's style is not doing him any favors. As the young lord stands straight again he shows that the same is true of their eyes, the tint is the same although the shape is markedly different.

"Your highness," he says with a grin and a light in his eyes that makes him look like he's fourteen again. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. We're all so thrilled at your safe return."

"Thank you. The pleasure is mine," she says, bobbing ever so slightly into a curtsy that Eugene has to admit is impressive.

"And Mr. Fitzherbert!" he says, holding out a hand. "It's so good to see you again."

Eugene narrows his eyes and raises one eyebrow at the extended hand. Someone in his position isn't supposed to shake a Lord's hand. A Lord can shake a Lord's hand, and the princess' betrothed can shake a Lord's hand, and brothers can shake hands with each other, but Eugene doesn't want to admit that he has any sort of status whatsoever, and he doesn't want to mislead this man into thinking that they're on friendly terms. Meanwhile, refusing to shake hands will amount to an incident, probably a stern talking to from several people, and maybe a duel or death threats or something.

Good grief, he hates politics.

They shake hands and the Lord beams at him.

"We met once before," he says, "about ten years ago, maybe?"

"More or less."

Sheesh. Yeah. They'd met ten years ago just a bit after Eugene left the orphanage, and right after he had gotten into some trouble in a town that turned out to be governed by Lord Wesley. Well, it was technically governed by Wesley, but since he was fourteen at the time it was actually governed by his mother, who is awful. But then again, Eugene's biased. Wesley had come to the jail, ordered his release, then gawked at him for about an hour in dumb struck awe that he could have a half-brother who led a life so different from his own.

Maybe he felt guilty. Maybe he felt lonely. Maybe he felt some sort of responsibility. Eugene didn't know, and he still doesn't. He did know that he didn't want anything to do with the boy, and he still feels the same way.

"And have you heard anything from… oh, what was her name?... Anne! Have you heard anything from her?"

Eugene suppresses an eye roll. Anne was one of their mutual half siblings, apparently the only other one whose name Wesley knows. They had lived in the same orphanage for a while, but had never been overly friendly.

"I last saw her about six years ago."

"And how was she?"

"Dead."

Wesley's face falls, but being embarrassed is what he gets for asking stupid questions. "Oh. Oh dear. How did she pass?"

"Syphilis."

"Oh," Wesley says, distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

Eugene shrugs. "Occupational hazard."

This comment has the desired effect of getting the idiot to switch back over to talking to Rapunzel about something completely benign. Eugene pretends to listen until a hand falls on his shoulder and he looks up to see the king smiling at him.

"Sit on my immediate left," he instructs in an undertone, before jovially greeting Lord Wesley. Eugene stares, not listening, taken completely by surprise that he's been given a seat usually reserved for someone with exceptional status. Blondie elbows him to get his attention and silently balls her hands in front of her face, mouthing the word "Yay!"

He supposes that's one way to look at it.

With the king's arrival, everyone slowly files into the meeting room, where Eugene pauses a moment before taking his seat. He reminds himself yet again not to pull at his collar and to try to look relaxed as surely everyone will be looking at him.

Lord Wesley slips into the seat next to him with a sheepish grin, and Eugene braces himself for the great stretch of monotony and awkwardness spread out ahead of him.

Five hours later he finds himself rushing to the library, relieving the strain in his legs and the ache in his back, moving away from Lord Wesley (who had hinted several times that he wanted to talk over lunch) and away from lengthy discussions of hydrostatic pressure and natural wood rot rates and the trauma that his escape from the guards has caused – not that anyone has seemed to piece together that that was what happened. Except the king, and Eugene was now convinced that sitting through this meeting and stewing in his own uncomfortableness is punishment for something, but he's not exactly sure which of his many crimes he's supposed to be contemplating during this torture.

He has maybe a half hour over the lunch break before people start to think that he's skipped out and start to look for him, so he's damned well going to make the most of it.

He sticks his head into the library, where Rapunzel's tutor (he's pretty sure this one is for history) immediately cuts off his lecture at the interruption, causing Blondie to turn around in her seat and then grin at him.

"I beg your pardon," Eugene says, putting on his look of sincerest humility. "Her highness' presence is required in a very urgent matter that simply cannot wait."

Her tutor looks skeptical, and Eugene gives the man his most winning empathic look. _Yes, it's awful that I have to take your pupil away. I completely understand how frustrating it must be. But what're ya gonna do?_ This look involves a complicated eyebrow movement and a slight purse of his lips.

The man sighs. "Oh, very well. I suppose this is as good a place as any to pause for the day."

"Thank you," Rapunzel chirps. She snatches up her books and bounds up to Eugene, who takes her wrist and pulls her down the hall.

"How's the meeting going?" she asks.

"Awful," he says, not pausing in his march away from the library.

"What's so bad about it? And where are we going?"

"Here." With a sweep of his eyes he establishes that the little sitting room is empty, and in a single movement he pulls her in behind him, presses her against the door to close it, and kisses her.

She jumps from the suddenness of it all, but eases into him with a sigh, her arms melting over his shoulders, her body relaxing against the door.

He needs to remind himself why he's doing all this, why he's putting up with meetings and lessons, with nobles and guards, with disapproving looks and uncomfortable clothing. He does it all for her, just for the chance to hear her laugh, hear her gasp, to look into her eyes, to count the freckles across her nose. She flicks open the topmost buttons on his jacket, giving him some much needed air, a much needed release of the heat mounting in his chest. He loves her for that – it's exactly what he needs.

He pins her snug against the door, flush against his body, letting the heat of her and the smell of her and the feel of her seep into his muscles, which draw tighter, firmer as her kisses grow more heady and intoxicating. He drags a heavy hand up and down her side, teasing all the little muscles of her belly, all the trembling nerves against the side of her breast. She moans into his mouth, her fingers grabbing at the back of his jacket, wishing more than anything that it was bare skin in her hands.

He slips down her neck, and her shoulders roll back against the door as her head falls back in a gasp. His hands trail down to her hips, his mouth against what pale expanse of skin there is to be had until her neckline, where he curses, and her fragile laugh is cut off by a sharp gasp as he slides to his knees and rakes up her skirts. His name is pulled from her lips, out from her lungs, from her soul into the air, where it trembles and flutters as one of her hands grabs at her skirts and the other grips his shoulder, unsure how to support herself.

Hands run along her smooth legs, rubbing hungry figures into her flesh, sending eddies of pleasure up into her core and out into her toes. He's fantasized about her legs so often, the feel, the shape, the strength of them, the feminine curve of her calves arching upwards and tantalizing him. With a steadying hand against her hip, he presses his lips to the inside of her thigh, dragging slowly upward, feeling heat race across her silky skin while her breath catches and her nails stab into his shoulder - a pang that runs straight to his crotch, fueling his need for her.

He peels away her underwear, slick from her need, and she hurriedly wiggles her hips and kicks them away before spreading her legs ever so slightly around him. She takes several shaky breaths as he resumes his course upward, rubbing small circles against her hip in reassurance as she squeezes his shoulder to show her trust.

He nuzzles his nose against her, and she squeaks, her legs nearly giving out, and maybe this position wasn't such a good idea, but it's far too late now as his tongue drags across her slit. And back. And forth. And back. And she's warm and wet and with every stroke she widens, inviting him in, her pulse growing wild against his lips. Hs thrusts inside her and her hips buck and she contracts around him so he's filling her, his tongue pushing in and pulling back and pushing in and pulling back and she is overwhelming, the smell of her, the taste of her, so much like sweat but so deliciously, viscerally different. All he wants is more, more of her, more of this dizzying feeling as he feels all her muscles roll and boil against his tongue.

She comes so beautifully above him, a thin trial of juices slipping down her leg, down his throat. Her legs shake so violently that she collapses to the floor, into his arms, burying her face helplessly against his chest. He holds her as she struggles for breath, his arms tight and desirous around her as he fights off his own need.

He holds her, and he loves her, and for her he would do anything.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"If you keep rolling your eyes like that they're going to fall out."

Eugene turns away from the carriage window to face the queen and her perfectly posed eyebrow. Seated next to her on the bumpy bench, Rapunzel makes a short strangled noise, her eyes growing wider in dismay.

"She's just exaggerating, Blondie."

"Oh. Right. I knew that." She goes back to absently digging her fingers into what little of the cushion is available for clinging. At first she had been excited about the carriage ride, but the jerkiness and the closeness had gotten to her quickly and she had gotten so motion sick that Eugene had thought that they would turn back. He had hoped that they would turn back. But she had pulled herself together after a break of sitting very still in the grass, leaning against his shoulder with her eyes closed, counting her breaths.

"So," the queen says cutting straight to the heart of the matter with her usual forwardness, "How many Fitzherbert children are there exactly?"

"Boat loads."

"That's not a number, Eugene."

He runs a hand through his hair and… painstakingly… _does not_ … roll his eyes. "I've met three. I've heard of two others. No idea how many I don't know about."

"Do those figures include Lord Wesley?"

"No."

Lord Herbert had been prolific in everything he did, whether it was his generous donations to charities, the amount of bad poetry he wrote, the quantity of wine he ingested, or the number of bar maids he knocked up.

"I thought you didn't have any family," Goldie says, her voice still a bit strained and her face still a bit pale.

"We share blood. That doesn't make us family."

Her eyebrows draw together as she considers this, her lips press together into a thin line, and Eugene tries to quickly think of a way to change the subject. He's saved from this when the carriage jerks violently, and he instinctively reaches forward to place a steadying hand on her knee. The queen similarly grabs Rapunzel's elbow as the girl stiffens and swallows thickly. When the carriage settles again the princess shoots them both a look that says she doesn't need their help, and she irritatedly moves the conversation along on her own.

"How come you never told me about your siblings before?"

"I don't do back-story."

"Yes, you do, _Eugene_."

"Fine. It just doesn't come up very often and I don't much like thinking about it."

"Oh." She absently curls Pascal's tail around her finger. "Why is it that Lord Wesley lives in a manor and you lived in an orphanage?"

"He's legitimate."

"Legitimate."

"It means his mother was married to his father."

"Oh… _Oh._"

"Yeah."

"Hmm… That's strange. I mean, it's not your fault what your parents did. Or didn't do. That's not really fair. You didn't do anything wrong."

He doesn't bother to remind her that he's done quite a bit wrong. "You're a little rebel, aren't ya, Blondie?"

The queen suppresses a smirk by turning her attention out the window.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Rapunzel snips.

"It's just one of those 'the way things are' things."

She huffs, the trip making her more agitated than he's ever seen her. It's almost cute, but he remembers that at any moment it may involve vomit and that's really not very attractive.

"Sometimes I think 'the way things are' needs to change."

"Well, if anyone can handle that it's you."

"Do you think Lord Wesley has invited any of his other siblings to stay at his manor?"

The queen's eyes roll. "Now whose eyes are going to fall out?" Eugene says smugly. She gives him a look that says she does not find him amusing, and he decides to shut up.

It hadn't taken Lord Wesley long to manage to get himself invited to dinner, and from there he had started dropping hints that he and Eugene should hang out, and he had somehow convinced Rapunzel that he was charming and friendly and nonthreatening and generally the best thing since sliced bread. They should be best friends (Hurray!) and – what was it they wanted to do together? Gardening? Eugene wasn't quite sure but it definitely involved plants and a lot of giggling and arm waving.

Or maybe he was remembering it wrong.

The king turned out to be similarly impressed with the young lord, but Eugene was starting to get the idea that the king was impressed with everyone. So when Lord Wesley suggested that they should all come visit him in his manor where they could do more gardening or giggling or whatever the king had enthusiastically accepted, and made arrangements for Rapunzel, Eugene, and the queen to "go on holiday" for two weeks.

Eugene and the queen were not so thrilled. They both suspected that Lord Wesley was up to something. They weren't quite sure what it was, so they just silently suspected him of everything. They'd bonded over the last week through their mutual overprotective reservations, and he suspected that this would only intensify during the fortnight they spent at Wesley's manor.

They bonded because no one else wanted to hear what they had to say, even though they were the two most reasonable people in the kingdom (in Eugene's opinion) and their distrust was entirely justified. No one wanted to hear it, and they didn't want to bring the party down, so they came to an unspoken agreement that they would watch from the sidelines until they had some evidence and it was time to step in and put a stop to all this nonsense and save the day.

"No," Eugene says, "I don't think he's invited anyone else to his manor before."

"When I became princess," the queen says, "I had long lost relatives crawling out of the wood work too."

"How'd you deal with them?"

"With poise."

"So I don't have a chance then."

"I wouldn't think so, no."

Rapunzel leans forward in her seat excitedly, pressing her nose against the window pane. "Oh my gosh, I think we're almost there! The first thing I'm going to do when we stop is lie down on the ground with a big glass of water."

"We'll have to greet our hosts firsts, but you'll be able to rest once we're inside," the queen says diplomatically. Rapunzel doesn't look too thrilled with this plan, but she accepts it, happy enough that she'll soon be out of the carriage.

The manor house is made of stones painted bright white against the dark gray of the window trimmings and the expansive, sloping roof. It stretches out to either side without any architectural marvels to break up the flat, three storied façade. They ride up a neat little drive, passing an elaborately planned flower garden on either side that inspires awe in Rapunzel and queasiness in Eugene.

This is the house he would have lived in if things had been different. This is the house he always pictured his castle would look like, even though now that he's looking at it, it's not all that spectacular. These are the people who had everything he was denied, wealth, stability, family. These are the people who didn't want anything to do with him until he stumbled upon the lost princess and became a celebrity.

These people do not care about him.

Which is fine really as he doesn't care about them either. His life turned out for the best without the benefits of all their manners and finery. And anyway, now he lives in a castle ten times as nice as this place, and he has the king and queen on his side, and a sexy girlfriend, and a frog - who was currently nibbling at the hair on the back of his neck.

"Stop that," he snaps, glaring down at the little lizard on his shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Pascal shrugs, and Eugene snatches him up and stuffs him into his breast pocket.

"Quit being weird."

"He's just excited," Rapunzel tells him.

"He just better not crap in my pocket."

Pascal smirks up at him.

"No. I'm serious. I'm watching you."

They wrench to a stop, and both Eugene and the queen have to grab Rapunzel's arm to keep her from bursting out of the carriage to roll around in the flowers. They need to make their ruse that they have manners last at least until dinner.

Rapunzel fidgets anxiously until someone comes to open the door for her and assist her and the queen in stepping out. She finds this completely unnecessary as she's jumped several stories before with nothing to assist her but a great mass of hair, but for some reason people think she can't handle a two foot step by herself. Oh well, it's just one of those things.

One of those things that will change as soon as she's queen.

No one helps Eugene out of the carriage, which is perfectly alright with him.

Lord Wesley stands on the front steps to meet them, a broad smile stamped across his face. Next to him is his mother, who looks overly tight and orderly and prudish.

"Your highnesses," he says with a bow, "we're so glad that you could find the time to join us. How was your journey?"

"It was a bit tiring," the queen says with a small smile, cutting Rapunzel off before she can start a rant about how awful it was.

"I'm dreadfully sorry. We'll make sure to prepare something to lift your spirits for dinner. May I introduce my mother, Lady Sophia?"

The lady curtsies deeply to the queen, "You honor us, your highness." Then she curtsies with the same level of exaggeration to the princess. "Our prayers for your safe return have been answered. We are so pleased to welcome you to our home."

"Thank you," Rapunzel says.

Lady Sophia completely ignores Eugene's presence, and an icy, malevolent chill settles over everyone but Blondie. "Please allow me to show you to your rooms."

"That would be wonderful," Rapunzel says with relief, quickly following the lady off into the house.

Eugene and the queen exchange a look as Lord Wesley tries to stammer something, then gives up.

"Oh, this is going to be the most fun ever," he mutters to her.

"Hmm," she agrees.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Eugene has sat through some pretty awkward meals before. That list includes his first night in the castle where none of the royal family knew how to talk to each other, the dinner where he and the Stabbington brothers tried to plan their crown stealing heist while also trying to out drink and out grimace each other, the first (and only) time he tried to have breakfast with a girl the morning after, and the lunch when the orphanage cook was carted off to the asylum for attacking the headmaster and left them with just the groundskeeper to try to fix a meal for three dozen hysterical children.

This dinner is worse than all of those.

When the soup is served there's a round of compliments directed at no one in particular, as whoever made the soup or even planned to make the soup isn't in the room. That lasts about thirty seconds, and then they fall into a thick silence.

Eugene decides that he should go ahead and eat his soup despite the tension, but Wesley doesn't seem to want to eat unless someone is talking and sits with his spoon hovering over his bowl. Every now and then he lifts it almost to his mouth before thinking better of it and lowering it again, his eyebrows drawn together in thought. Every now and then he twitches, blinking a few too many times in a row. Eugene thinks about kicking him, but decides against it. They're not that close.

The queen maintains her poise as if nothing's wrong, but she keeps shooting him a look out of the corner of her eye as if he ought to be doing something. For the life of him he can't figure out what.

Lady Sophia is still ignoring him completely, but she sits ram rod straight and after every bite she aims a glare at her son so fierce that it's shocking the kid hasn't burst into flames.

Pascal gives him a wide eyed look from his pocket, then buries himself deeper, staying out of it and trying to hide.

But Rapunzel's handling it the worst. Like Wesley, she doesn't eat anything, deciding instead to stare at everyone around the table in turn, trying to figure out why everyone's so upset. Her eyes dart from her mother, to Lady Sophia, to Wesley, to her mother, to Eugene, to Wesley, to Lady Sophia. She must be getting a headache, and the creases on her forehead grow more and more pronounced and her anxiety grows until her head starts to duck and her shoulders start to slouch as she draws into herself in fear.

Eugene stretches out his leg to press his foot reassuringly against her own, and she jumps and squeaks at the contact, dropping her spoon with a clatter.

Everyone's heads snap up to her, the queen holding her breath in concern, Wesley looking like a traumatized rabbit, Lady Sophia looking thoroughly unamused.

"Sorry," Rapunzel mutters, and after a moment everyone returns to their soup.

She looks up at Eugene and he offers her an apologetic cringe. She gives him a hesitant twinge of her lips and finds his leg with her toes. She's apparently slipped out of her shoes under the table. The arch of her foot finds his calf and rubs steadily back and forth, trying to draw confidence from his warmth and his presence and soak it up into her fluttering stomach.

With a deep, silent breath, her shoulders relax and she takes a delicate sip of her soup. He watches the muscles in her neck move as she swallows, and when their eyes meet again he's able to give her a confident smirk that makes her toes curl against him before they both look away again.

He decides that he doesn't care for all this, and he's thus going to ignore it. He has everything he needs with his meal (which really is pretty good) and with playing footsie with his girl.

The soup turns into salmon, and the salmon turns into chocolate cake, and through it all there is silence except for the clinking of cutlery and Wesley's few tragic attempts at conversation. When the queen apologizes by saying that they're all tired from their journey and suggests that they retire, Rapunzel jumps to her feet so fast she almost forgets her shoes.

"That was horrible," she groans once she's collapsed onto the sofa in Eugene's room, dropping her head into his lap. "What's wrong with everyone?"

"Don't worry about it too much," he says, stroking her hair. "Miss. Priss just doesn't like me."

"Why is it no one likes you? I like you."

"Thanks, Goldie."

"I'm serious. It's not fair."

"I don't mind. You like me. Your folks like me. Pascal… is also here." The frog glares up at him and sticks out his tongue. "That's all that matters."

"Really?"

"Really. You just enjoy yourself and don't let it get to you. It's not your problem, it's hers."

"Hmm." She narrows her eyes up at the ceiling in thought, absently tracing the lines across the palm of his free hand, sending tingling ripples through the bones in his arm.

"What are you two doing?"

Blondie pushes herself up on her elbows and they both look up to see the queen standing in the doorway, her face set in an expression somewhere between disappointment and amusement. It's a look that Eugene is being familiar with.

"We're hiding," the princess tells her in a stage whisper.

"I found you easily enough, so you're not doing a very good job."

"You don't count."

In such a motherly gesture that he almost laughs, the queen announces, "Bed. Now. Both of you."

"_My_ bed?" Rapunzel asked, her nose wrinkling in a way that would be cute if Eugene's heart hadn't just jerked to a stop.

The queen blinks at her, then closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and rubs her forehead with the tips of her fingers before drawing them back through her hair. Then she turns on her heel and leaves without further comment.

Rapunzel tilts her head back and grins up at him.

He can't think of anything cohesive to say except, "You two seem to be getting along."

Her grin grows. "We're friends," she declares.

"Just when I think you can't get weirder."

"My manners tutor says that it's called quirky."

"Alright, Quirky," he says, pushing her into sitting up with his elbow. "Time for you to go to bed."

Her face slips into a pout as he guides her to her feet, then across to the door. He fishes Pascal out of his pocket and plops him onto her shoulder.

"Goodnight."

She digs in her heels before she's all the way out of his room, and turns to peer at him. "That's it? Just goodnight?"

"Uh… Sweet dreams?"

She ducks her head to look up at him through her eyelashes, her green eyes bright and intoxicating. And where did she learn _that_?

She reaches out to thread her fingers through his before whispering, "No kiss?"

Oh, she's going to be the end of him. Again.

She drapes an arm over his shoulder, pressing her body fully against him to get leverage, to pull herself up onto her toes, to hold him tight, to turn him on. She runs her hand up his spine, sending shivers through his chest, to reach the back of his neck and draw him down, down into her and her green eyes and her parted lips.

This must be what it feels like in the moment before drowning. When his mind relents and relaxes along with every tendon, every muscle, every worry. When his body is encircled in a thick and muggy warmth. When the air rushes from his lungs, too excited to hold breath, leaving behind only dizziness and bliss. When little shocks of pleasure burst along his skin where she touches him.

"Oh! Sorry! I didn't… sorry."

Eugene pulls himself free, feeling a bit like a plunger coming unstoppered and a bit like a man who's going to murder the next person to interrupt him.

Lord Wesley's eyes are so wide they might fall out of his head at any moment, and his face is warring with itself, unsure if it should turn red or white.

"Sorry," he repeats, dropping his eyes to the floor and looking sheepish.

Eugene manages to untangle himself, which is more difficult than it really ought to be. "What can we do for you?"

"I was just… I…" Wesley coughs, and glances up at Eugene with that look in his eyes that he's had nearly every time they've spoken. And suddenly Eugene is able to give it a name.

Hero worship.

The revelation hits him like a wall of water. Wesley couldn't be that much younger than him, maybe only a few years. And the kid had everything, right? It was crazy. Absolutely crazy.

Eugene's demeanor softens as he asks, "What's up, buddy?"

"I just came to… ah…" Eugene raises an eyebrow, and Wesley sighs. "I wanted to apologize for my mother. She's being unreasonable."

Eugene shrugs. "I can see her point, I guess."

"Yeah. I guess I didn't really think this through."

"Yep. You sure dropped the ball on this one."

"Eugene!" Blondie hisses.

"What? It's true. I mean I get it, you want to hang out so you can learn to be as great as I am. There's no shame in that. But look, kid, there are better ways to go about it."

Wesley gives him a look of awe inspired by Eugene's amazing mind reading powers. "There is?"

"Sure!"

"How?"

"You need to go get in trouble."

He looks unsure for a moment. "Like how?"

"Like…" Eugene pauses. Then looks down at Rapunzel, back at Wesley, then down the hall to see if they have any more unexpected guests. "You know what, let's just show you. How'd you like to go get drunk?"


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

"Aww, shit. Now there's two of you."

Hookhand scowls magnificently, and Eugene gives him his most annoying smirk. "No. There's still only one Eugene Fitzherbert." True, there were two Flynn Riders, but he decides to skip over that minor detail.

"Then what's _that_?" Hookhand asks, gesturing at Wesley, who shrinks away and cringes.

"This," Eugene says, slapping the kid on the back and pulling him forward, "is Wes, and we're here to show him a good time, so pull on your best hazing boots and don't hold anything back."

The young lord looks like he's about to protest, but can't decide which part to object to first.

Hookhand is not impressed with any of this at all. "What do you want?"

"Two beers for us and a cupcake for Blondie to start us out."

Wes' eyes widen. "Can I have a cupcake too?"

"Is it your tenth birthday?"

"Well… no."

"Then no. You can't have a cupcake."

"But the princess-"

"Yeah, shut up, Rider!" Hookhand shoves his hook threateningly into Eugene's face forcing him to jerk backwards to avoid losing an eye. "If the squirt wants a cupcake, he can damned well have a cupcake, and there's nothing you can do to stop him. Attila! Get over here!"

From across the room Big Nose catches Eugene's eye, points at Rapunzel, and very obviously mouths the words, "How's it going?" He then gives him a questioning gesture. Thumbs up? Or thumbs down? Eugene gives a gesture of his own. It's not a thumb.

Big Nose just shrugs and turns around in his seat to interrupt Goldie's one sided conversation with Ulf and asks her something that makes her blush. This seems a good enough answer for Big Nose as he turns back to Eugene and grins. Thumbs up.

"What's that about?" Wesley asks, handing Eugene a beer and a cupcake so he can carry his own.

"Nothing. That guy's an idiot. Don't listen to anything he says."

"Oh."

Eugene winds his way to the table Rapunzel's saved for them, shoving Ulf out of the way and giving Big Nose a dirty look.

Blondie takes her cupcake with a squeal. "Strawberry today!... Mmm." Her eyes roll back in bliss and the tip of her tongue slides across a dollop of fluffy pink frosting from her lower lip. Eugene's mouth waters at the thought that she probably tastes like sugar now. "He's out done himself today."

"Yeah." He makes a mental note to give Attila something awesome if he ever figures out what exactly that might be.

"Do you two come here often?" Wesley asks, taking a more refined bite of his pastry and eyeing the nearby table of sweaty thugs who are giving them menacing looks. One of them pulls out a knife the length of his forearm and uses it to pick at thin, yellowed teeth.

"Not nearly often enough," Rapunzel says with a sigh. She relaxes her shoulders for the first time since they left the castle, and looks around the room with a contented smile on her face, almost as if this crowded, stinking pit is a nostalgic childhood home. "Everyone's so friendly here."

Wesley scans the room again, trying to see what she sees. He's there to learn, after all, and if the princess isn't intimidated he'd look like a wuss if he chickened out now, so he might as well shake away his fear. One of the thugs rips a chunk of undercooked meat off a skewer and chews it viciously before spitting a hunk of gristle out onto the floor. Wesley doesn't know if he should be horrified or transfixed.

"When do we get started getting into trouble?" he asks. He's eager to have an adventure with someone as cool as Eugene, but he's also getting this icy feeling in his stomach that he's never gotten before when he fantasized about all the marvelous daring do he could get up to. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, and he really is a chicken.

Eugene waves his hand and takes a long gulp of his beer. "Don't worry about it. After a few drinks I'm sure you'll think of something. Drink up."

"But-"

"If it makes you feel better, you're already in trouble just for being here."

"Hmm." He takes a sip and almost gags. "Ugg!"

Rapunzel nods consolingly. "It's nasty stuff."

"Hey, girlie!" Vladamir shouts from a few tables away, "I made that."

She gives him an embarrassed half smile. "I'm sorry, but it tastes like… like broccoli."

"Like watered down piss!" one of the thugs supplies.

"Fermented mud!"

"Burnt dog hair!"

"… citrus?"

"Shut up and quit bitching!"

"Then make better beer!"

"I don't see any of you offering to help."

"I don't mind it so much."

"Fuck off, Rider. No one cares what you think."

Eugene shrugs and turns his attention back to his mug. A moment later, a delicate bare foot runs up the back of his leg, as if trying to console him. Or maybe practice. Given how sticky the floor is, taking off her shoe is probably not the best idea ever, but he's certainly not going to point that out.

"Eugene told me that after the first glass, you can't really taste it anymore," Blondie explains. "He says it's not about the taste, it's about the hum."

"The buzz."

"Right."

Wesley considers this, then braces himself and takes a deep, cringing drink. When he comes up for air, he starts coughing, but he's grinning and almost everyone around the bar cheers.

After one drink Wesley is tipsy. He makes Eugene tell him a story about his Flynn Rider days which has the kid giving him a look of absolute idolization, and has Blondie resting her chin in both hands, watching him with doe eyes and a little, love struck smile.

He's never had a better audience. They gasp in all the right places, and lean in, enraptured as he talks. Even when Shorty sidles up and debunks half his story they stick with him, telling the little geezer to hush and beat it.

Shorty huffs something about knowing when he's not wanted and stumbles away.

"Excuse me a minute," Eugene says, then follows after him to have a brief discussion involving a lot of hand gestures and shoulder patting. When he comes back he drops a bag of money on the table. "You need to keep that in an inside pocket or it'll get lifted again."

Wes looks at him in renewed awe.

"Actually, how about we let Blondie keep up with it. She's the only one around here they won't steal from."

"Yeah. Sure thing."

After two drinks Wes is drunk. Poor thing. He'll have to work on that.

At eleven o'clock Hookhand pulls out an axe, throws it across the room, and bellows at everyone to shut the hell up, before he takes a seat at the rickety little piano and plays a sonata for the silent, intimidated crowd.

"Wow," Wes breathes, his eyes dancing as they follow Hookhand's fingers across the keys. "He's amazing."

Goldie giggles. "One time he played a song just for me. It was about a river."

"I've been studying the piano for fifteen years and I could never even hope to play with such… such passion! And he's only got one hand! It's amazing. I have to go talk to him." This proves to be difficult as Wesley has trouble walking straight and trips over Tor, who snarls at him. But eventually he and Hookhand end up in an enthusiastically drunken conversation about the finer points of tuning theory, counterpoint, and hook maintenance.

"You two are having fun," Blondie whispers, leaning against his side and resting her head against his shoulder.

"Not as much fun as your foot seems to be having." She giggles. "Isn't it getting cold yet."

"Yes."

"Give it here."

She slips her foot from under his knee, crosses her legs the other way, and slides it into his lap. He holds it between his palms for a moment to warm her before he rubs his thumb into the gentle arch of her foot.

"My feet probably aren't that clean."

"I don't mind."

"I think I should have something to drink too."

"You don't like the taste. Remember?"

"No. But you two are having fun and I feel left behind."

"Don't give into peer pressure, Goldie."

"Wesley is."

"But he's not as smart as you." He tries to sell her a smirk, but she's not buying it. "Besides, you're not that far behind me. I won't be drunk for a while."

"Eugene, you need to buy me a drink or I'll have someone else do it."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Big Nose! Can you get me-"

"Fine! Fine! Whatever you say. You're the boss."

She looks smug. "I am."

After a great deal of discussion at the bar, Eugene and the thugs decide that serving the royal princess cheep piss-beer is a bad idea. She might go blind. They go on to decide that they should just start her on liquor. There's a bottle of really nice rum around somewhere, which has a flavor she might enjoy, and they could mix it with… uh, orange juice? No, the orange juice has gone bad. Cranberry juice? Yeah, like they have cranberry juice.

Attila comes to the rescue when he figures out that they have the stuff to make a mojito. No one else knows what that is, which thoroughly disgusts Attila and his more refined tastes.

After Wesley's third drink (half of one for Rapunzel, four for Eugene, and about two dozen for Big Nose, who's now sitting with them) he starts waxing poetic about the girl he's smitten with, which Eugene thinks is a bit stomach churning.

"…and she has the most beautiful hair," Wes sighs, a distinctive slur slipping into his words. "It's black and straight and shiny and long, and you just want to touch it."

"I used to have pretty hair," Goldie says dreamily, a flush beginning to seep across her cheeks.

"You still do," Eugene says, but his comment is ignored.

"It was golden blonde and it was _long_. So. Long. And it was magical. And it would glow."

Wesley snorts.

"It was! Wasn't it, Eugene?"

"It was," he agrees.

"Yeah. It was freaky," says Big Nose. "It was all dragging around on the floor. Shocking it didn't always have mud in it."

"Or blood."

"Or tangles! I got tangles in my hair. See?" Big Nose pulls off his winged helmet to show off a little tuft of unruly, brown hair.

"It was magic," Blondie explains. "And I could use it for so many things. I could use it like a blanket, or a ladder, or a rope… one time I even used it to tie up Eugene."

"What?" Big Nose's jaw drops and his eyes bulge. "No shit, you ugly, lucky bastard."

"Shut up. It wasn't like that."

"Like what?" Goldie asks.

"Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it? What are you, broken? Damn it, Rider, you lived the dream and let us all down! You're a disgrace."

"What dream?" she asks.

"Being tied up by a beautiful woman so she can have her way with you, that's what."

"What?" She glances over at Eugene, but her brain feels a bit fuzzy and her head feels a bit warm and it's making it hard to figure out what's going on. "I thought you didn't like being tied up."

"I didn't."

"Because he's broken."

"But why would you like it? You were my prisoner." She says this with just the right amount of possessive pride that it makes the statement about a thousand times worse.

"I hate you, Rider." Big Nose glares and spits and shoves himself to his feet to stalk off in a huff.

After Wesley's fifth beer (Goldie's second, and Eugene's eighth) Eugene's vision is starting to blur. He's feeling so good that he agrees that it would be a great idea to teach Wes and Goldie how to pick pockets. He gives them a rundown of the basics, some dos and don'ts, and demonstrates by easily taking one of the princess' earrings. Pearls. Nice. He then sends them out to try their luck, because this will be fun and safe and educational.

Wesley comes stumbling back with a black eye and a grin. He says that next time he'll try to be more subtle, but he trips over the word "subtle" and crumples onto the table.

Poor light weight.

Rapunzel shows up a few minutes later, and presents him with Hookhand's hook.

"He said that he needs… he needs it back in a minute."

"You asked him?"

"Yes."

"And you're going to give it back?"

"Of course," she scoffs. "It's his hand! He can't do without it!"

"I think you missed the point."

"More like _you_ missed the point." She pokes him hard in the chest, leaning precariously to the left.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking… about… I don't know!" She collapses across him in a fit of wild giggles.

"You're a nut."

"I love you, Eugene Fittttzz-zerbert. You're fun."

"You're a blast too, Sunshine."

"I'm gonna… tie you up… and," snirk, "have my way with you."

"Don't repeat things that idiot says."

"Why not?" She snuggles deeper into his chest, suddenly too tired to open her eyes. "You get the funniest face."

"Thanks."

She sighs as her body relaxes against him. "You're welcome."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Someone is kicking Eugene's boot and it's the most annoying thing he's ever experienced. Ugg. Can't people just let a man sleep? Can't they see how cozy he is?"

_Prod prod_.

Nope. Apparently they can't. Jerks.

He cracks open his eyes to see four royal guards, dressed in a red far too bright for this time in the morning (or afternoon. No, it's probably still morning) and faces so pinched with irritation that there's no way they could be comfortable. The man in front, prodding at Eugene's boot, has the most irritated face and the most elaborate helmet, marking him as the new captain.

"You the new guy?" Eugene asks. "Huh. Weird. Suddenly I miss Max."

"Unhand the princess, Rider."

Eugene takes in his surroundings. He's still in the Snuggly Duckling, which has cleared out except for the few other drunks who weren't able to get home and are now snoring on whatever flat surface they found most convenient. Lord Wesley is still sprawled out on the other side of the table, his face smooshed against the sticky wood grain. Pascal blinks up at him blearily, his skin a gross, yellowed shade of brown. Eugene almost remembers that the chameleon ate the limes out of Rapunzel's drink, and he has a blurry notion that that might have been his idea.

Eugene has managed to stretch out a leg across the booth bench and rest his back against the wall. And Blondie has made herself at home on his lap, arms wrapped around his chest like an octopus, legs curled up and tucked neatly beneath his bent knee.

He raises his hands in surrender, but Rapunzel doesn't move at all. He could probably stand up and she'd stay attached to him like a barnacle.

The guards are not nearly as amused by this as Eugene is.

"Get up."

Eugene makes a face and eases the princess' arms up around his neck, where she latches onto him again and mutters something under her breath. He awkwardly adjusts them both until he can slide an arm under her legs and scoot off the bench, hefting her dead weight up into his arms.

He aims a swift kick at Wesley's shin, and the kid jerks up, one of his eyes wide and bloodshot, the other swollen and pinched and a brilliant shade of purple. There's some cupcake frosting on his face, and his hair sticks up at odd angles, which actually suits him better than his usual style. A second after his abrupt movement he cringes as if in slow motion, and clutches at his throbbing head.

"Uuuuuggggggh."

"Come on."

"Wha?"

"Our ride's here."

"Nggh."

Wesley struggles to his feet and follows without protest.

"Can you get my frog?" Eugene asks the nearest guard. "Thanks."

The guard gives Pascal a disgusted look before plucking him up between his thumb and forefinger. The chameleon shudders, as though he's about to be sick, and Eugene looks away, not wanting to see that.

"Oh, and grab the princess' shoes too." He stoops a bit to look under the table. "There's one. And the other should be…" He scans the room. "Ah. There it is." He nods at Blondie's left shoe, which is hanging from Shorty's right foot while Shorty dangles suspended from the ceiling, dressed in nothing but what at one point in the evening was a toga.

The guard holding Pascal looks aghast.

"They have the same size feet," Eugene explains.

"Oh."

With that he strides out of the bar, his arms full of hung over princess, and his goofy half-brother and a half dozen confused guards trailing behind him.

"Max! Buddy!"

The horse glares at him as he approaches.

"Didn't know you were here."

Maximus gives Goldie a suspicious look, then sticks his nose in her face an sniffs her, his breath causing her hair to flutter. He snorts in what's almost a sneeze, shakes his head wildly, and glares at Eugene with even more venom.

"What?"

_I hate you._

"Oh, we both know that's not true," he says with a smirk.

Maximus looks like he might hit him, then his eyes dart down to Rapunzel. She's like a cute, little human shield.

Eugene's smirk grows, and the horse rolls his eyes and flops down onto his belly to let him get on without having to set the girl down.

"Thanks."

_Snort._

Blondie wakes up about halfway back to Lord Wesley's manor. But after realizing how bright it is and how much she's being jostled, she decides that opening her eyes and sitting up just isn't worth it. Finding a more comfortable spot against Eugene's shoulder, she lets out the saddest little moan he's ever heard. It's a moan for his ears alone, and somehow he finds that adorable.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, laying a soft kiss against her temple. "We'll get you some water when we get back. That'll help."

She seriously doubts this, but going back to sleep does sound like a good idea. It turns out that this is difficult while riding a horse and feeling queasy. And it turns out that Maximus is feeling particularly vindictive for no good reason, going out of his way to wiggle and run into tree branches.

She's a bit worse for wear when they arrive at the manor, and the sick feeling in her stomach only hardens as they are greeted on the front steps by Lady Sophia and the queen, neither of whom look amused. She swallows and shoots a look up at Eugene, who's suddenly also feeling sick.

He rubs a reassuring hand against her back as he helps her down off of Maximus.

"Don't worry," he whispers, but she does anyway.

They line up on the lowest step like children preparing to get their knuckles rapped. Standing on the step above them, the queen looks even more intimidating than usual. The look she gives him makes him feel more guilt ridden than anyone's ever been able to make him feel before.

And that's before she speaks.

She starts with Wes, and with that way she has of making her words cut with uncanny precision she says simply, "You worried us."

Wesley flinches, as worrying people was the last thing he wanted to do. He never wanted to make a scene or cause a fuss, he just wanted one brief adventure, one short break from his usual routine.

The queen moves on, looking straight into Rapunzel's eyes to convey the seriousness of the situation.

"You know better."

She flushes, and Eugene fights down the urge to reach for her. Rapunzel is always so proud of herself for knowing things about the world. She seeks out knowledge and soaks it up and revels in it, and then she tries so very hard to implement everything she's learned. And then there's the fact that this is possibly the kindest dressing down she's ever received, and the only time it's happened from someone she ought to respect, from someone who loves her and cares for her wellbeing.

Then the queen turns to Eugene, and for a second they stare at each other and he is paralyzed by the honesty in her eyes.

"I'm disappointed."

He has to drop his gaze to the ground. If she was disappointed, it meant she was expecting something. It meant she trusted him.

He'd been reprimanded before, sure. He'd had people yell and curse at him, hit him, and tell him he was in the wrong. He'd had people slap up wanted posters and throw him in jail. But never from someone whose opinion mattered. Never from someone who had his best interests at heart.

The queen reaches out to her daughter, squeezing her shoulder and meeting her gaze, giving her a silent reassurance that yes, she is in trouble, but she will always be loved. Rapunzel sniffs and throws her arms around her mother. When they pull apart a moment later, the girl hastily wipes her eyes.

"Now I believe it's time for you to all go to bed."

There's a small chorus of "yes, ma'am," and the three of them troop up the stairs together. For a moment Lady Sophia looks as though she's not satisfied with this special brand of chewing out, but she bites her tongue at a sharp look from the queen.

Eugene squeezes Rapunzel's hand as she slips into her room to lie down, and she offers him a little smile to show she's ok. He finds his own room and slumps into a chair, running a hand over his face and massaging the bridge of his nose.

_Glurp_.

Glurp? What the hell kind of noise is glurp?

The sound repeats itself, this time with an added wheeze, and this time Eugene realizes that sound is emanating from his pocket - from his pocket where a very sick chameleon is hacking up several mojitos worth of limes and mint and quite a bit of strawberry frosting.

"Ugg! Pascal!"

He fishes the frog out of its own mess and hurries to the washroom, where he strips off his shirt and carefully tries to clean the little guy up as much as possible.

_Glurp._

"Shit." Eugene sighs and gives up trying to wash Pascal off, opting instead to hold him over the sink and rub a soothing thumb back and forth over his little, scaly eyebrows.

The chameleon blinks up at him, looking more pathetic than anything has a right to be.

"I know, buddy. It's gonna be alright."

_Blink._

"It's ok. Just take it easy, now."

Eugene spends most of the day looking after Pascal, who eventually coughs up a penny, falls asleep, and returns to looking green. It's dark by the time Rapunzel shows up, looking refreshed and ready once again to find Wesley to do something fun.

"Fun within limits," she clarifies with a half smile. "Fun while telling mother where we're going."

"How about we find him and go to the library?" Eugene suggests. That seems pretty innocuous, and wouldn't really require permission.

Her eyes light up, and she slips Pascal onto her shoulder and grabs Eugene's hand, chattering away about what kinds of books Lord Wesley might have in his collection. Maybe more art books? Or maybe some adventure stories, because she found one in the castle library about pirates and it was _fascinating_.

They turn down the hall towards where they guess Wes' rooms are, and Blondie's excitement is cut short by the sound of an icy voice coming from one of the sitting rooms down the dimly lit hallway.

"You shouldn't be spending time with him anyway." Eugene recognizes it as Lady Sophia. Great. "He's a scoundrel, a criminal, and a manipulator. He's already gotten you into trouble and who knows what else he'll have you involved in if you continue down this road. You're too good for the likes of him."

Eugene knows that he ought to turn and leave, but somehow his legs won't allow it.

"It's my own fault for getting into trouble, mother," Wesley says.

"Oh please. You couldn't get up to anything if left to your own devices."

Eugene's eyes narrow, a defensive fire lighting in his chest.

Wesley however handles the insult more diplomatically – most likely because he's used to such abuse. "I can spend time with whoever I choose. I am an adult, and I am Lord of this manor, and Eugene is my brother."

Lady Sophia makes a sound of the upmost disgust.

Wesley sighs, and Eugene can tell from the tone of his voice that he doesn't believe what he says next. He's heard people lie and tell half truths his entire life. "Someday he will be the prince. It would do us well to be in his good favor."

"In _his_ good favor? It seems to me you should be working on the princess' good favor. Someday she will realize that he's filth. Someday that simpleton will figure out that he's using her and he'll be tossed out like the trash he is. _You_ are the much smarter match and you are wasting your efforts to try to impress that ruffian when you should be trying to make an impression on the princess."

Rapunzel makes a noise of outrage at his side, and he looks down to see her filled with more fury than he has ever seen in her. She clenches her jaw and stalks towards the sitting room, tensed like a tigress ready to rip out a beating heart. To keep her from making a scene and embarrassing everyone and possibly hurting the old bat – and since when has he cared about any of that? - he grabs her around the waist and in the ensuing struggle they completely miss Wesley's response and Eugene gets an elbow to the ribs that hurts way more than it should.

"Let go!" she shouts, wriggling out of his grasp and marching straight into the sitting room. He follows her hesitantly and stands in the doorway with every muscle in his back tensed to watch Rapunzel explode. Maybe he'll have better luck restraining her if Wes helps out.

"You," she says, staring daggers at Lady Sophia, who looks so shocked and pale that she might faint at any moment, "are a horrible, mean old woman. Your son is very nice, and kind, and doing the best he can, and you should be proud of him. You should tell him that you're proud of him and that you love him instead of being so rude. And you should be nice to Eugene. And if you can't be nice to him you should at least be polite, because he is the bravest, sweetest man in the world. And if you _ever_ call me a simpleton again I'll…" She shakes from rage and fear and shock at her own daring, and he finds this much more concerning than anything else that's happened today. "Ugg! I'm not staying here another minute. We're leaving!"

She shoves past him, and he has enough time to crumple his eyebrows at Wes to say, "Sorry. What can you do?" and to then cock an eyebrow that the near stricken woman to say, "yeah, you're a bitch," before he hurries after the princess.

He catches up with her three hallways away, her face flushed and her eyes swimming. "Rapunzel, wait a second." He needs to calm her down because her new infuriated state is scaring him, and he's almost positive that she's about to start crying again and this sobbing fit is going to be one for the books.

She stops so suddenly that he almost runs into her, and for a moment she stares into space and swallows before making her announcement.

"We need to get married."

He freezes. "We- Wh- wait, what?"

"We should get married," she repeats, nodding her head with growing confidence and pushing back her tears. "It would solve all sorts of problems."

He tries not to look as terrified as he suddenly feels, but he's cold and clammy and a bit numb and a bit nauseous. He swallows thickly as bile rises in his throat, and when he speaks it comes out in an undignified squeak. "Problems?"

"People would stop trying to…" She glares down the corridor, back towards Lady Sophia's sitting room, and she waves her hand at it, unable to come up with the right word. "Stop trying to kiss me and impress me and things. And then you'd be royalty and people would treat you better and like you better, and it would just be easier for everyone."

Only about half of what she says makes it into his head to take root. He's still caught up in a panicked fight or flight reflex that's making it difficult to breathe, much less think.

"Well? Don't you think so?" she snaps.

"I… uh… I don't know."

She blinks at him, finally coming out of her anger enough to notice his distress. "You don't know?"

"I…" He clears his throat and scratches at the back of his head. "It's just… not something to rush into."

She doesn't understand that at all, and her irritation slowly starts to transfer from Lady Sophia to Eugene, and the bite returns to her voice. "Don't you want to marry me?"

"I…" Honestly, he doesn't know. The whole concept is just too freaky for him to think about logically.

"You said you loved me."

"I do love you."

"And you want to be with me forever."

"Of course." He can't imagine his life without her.

"And most people already think we're going to get married eventually."

"Yeah, but-" This is different. Very, very different.

"And then I wouldn't have to sneak into your room every night."

"…uh…" Yeah, that argument doesn't help him form a complete sentence.

"I don't see what the problem is."

He starts to explain, but immediately realizes that there just aren't words to describe this kind of claustrophobic idiocy. Another stupid croaking noise escapes his throat before he closes his mouth with a snap and drops his eyes to the floor.

He really is just being stupid. Isn't he? Maybe? But… Arg!

"Eugene."

There's a plead to her voice that makes him cringe, and he glances up to see her eyes sparkling with hurt and confusion, her brow creased more than he thinks he can handle.

"I don't know how to explain it," he says. "Just… just give me a minute to think."

"You need to think about it?"

"Well, yeah."

"Why? Either you want to marry me or you don't. It's not that hard."

"It is for me!"

"Why?"

"Because! Ugg! Can we please not have this fight in the hallway? You're not really mad at me anyway, you're mad at her and you're just taking it out on me."

Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits, and for a second she actually looks quite scary.

Then she spins on her heel and storms off, leaving him to stand alone in the hallway, staring after her, feeling like a dejected fool.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

She doesn't start to sob as soon as they're out of sight of the manor the way Eugene predicted. Instead it's a hundred times worse as she curls up on the bench with her head in her mother's lap and her back facing Eugene as if she can't bring herself to look at him. The jostling and the noise of the carriage make it impossible to tell if her shoulders are shaking from quiet little tears, but the way she clutches at her stomach and curls in on herself and the expression on the queen's face tell him all he needs to know.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

The queen hasn't asked what happened. When a fuming Rapunzel declared that they were leaving, she trusted her daughter and made hasty arrangements for their departure. If their abbreviated stay caused a political incident, then so be it. In this matter she believed that the princess knew what she was doing and all its ramifications.

Eugene wasn't so sure about that part. Sure, if Rapunzel said they were hitting the road, he'd be the first to help her pack, but then again he didn't really care if they offended half the countryside.

Maybe the queen felt the same way.

There was really no telling.

The queen runs a hand through Rapunzel's hair as if attempting to stroke the hurt away, as if through the simple, repetitive gesture she can calm not only her daughter but herself. She shoots a look of concern up at Eugene, trying to find some explanation for what happened, trying to find some assistance or suggestion while she's feeling so useless.

But Eugene doesn't have anything to offer her. His arms ache from how hard he's having to hold himself back from grabbing Rapunzel and pulling her into an embrace so tight it will squeeze all the fear and anger out of her and will somehow explain everything he's feeling even though he can't put it into words himself. But she doesn't want him to touch her, and he knows that they'll both feel even worse when she shrugs his hand away.

He's helpless, and he's not at all used to feeling that way.

He slumps forward and rests his face in his hands. His posture, and the tension of his fingers, and the slope of his mouth all make him look utterly defeated, and this scares the queen even more. She swallows and directs her gaze down at her daughter, stroking her hair with even greater intensity.

In reality it doesn't take very long for Rapunzel to fall asleep, but the time stretches painfully until at last her shoulders ease and her breathing evens.

At last the queen looks up and met Eugene's eyes and in a hushed voice says simply, "Tell me."

He doesn't know what to say, and after running a hand through his hair he settles on, "Lady Sophia said some hurtful things." His voice is just loud enough for her to hear over the rumble of the carriage, soft enough not to wake the princess.

The queen lifts a delicate eyebrow at him as if to say _no shit_. But then again, there's no way she would phrase it quite like that.

"She was rude to Lord Wesley. From what I've gotten out of Rapunzel, it was a lot like how Gothel was rude to her."

The queen's hand tightens on the girl's shoulder, as she nods for him to continue.

"Then she questioned my intentions."

"Towards my daughter?"

"Towards everyone."

"Ah."

"And then to top it off she insulted Rapunzel's intelligence."

The queen sighs and rolls her eyes. "That woman…" She trails off, too polite to voice her feelings even in private.

"…is a first class bitch?" he suggests.

"Watch yourself, Mr. Fitzherbert."

"Why? It's the truth."

"It's your opinion."

"And yours."

"Perhaps."

"Oh, come on."

She tilts her head and purses her lips in a way that tells him she is not going to continue talking about it and he should stop being obnoxious. "Exactly how big of a scene did you cause?"

"Excuse me?"

"Please tell me you didn't break Lady Sophia's nose."

He gapes at her. "You honestly think I would… No. No, no, no. It was all Rapunzel. She just… lost it. She wasn't violent – and I've seen her violent – but she was just… I don't know. Angry and yelling."

The queen thinks on this a moment, smoothing out a wrinkle in Rapunzel's sleeve.

"Then what did you fight about?"

"What?"

"What did you and Rapunzel fight about? I assumed the two of you fought over your behavior forcing her to leave. But now I see that I jumped to conclusions."

Eugene's throat goes dry and he instinctually hides behind something smarmy. "You really don't think much of me then, do ya?"

She lifts her eyebrows.

"Who said we fought about anything?" He knows that track's not going to work the second the words are out of his mouth.

"You've explained why she's upset, but not why you're upset."

"I can't be upset when some old biddy's rude to my girl?"

"You can," she admits. "But this is something different. You're not exactly upset. It's more like…" She narrows her eyes at him in contemplation. "…guilt."

The way he drops his eyes gives him away.

"And I don't believe that Rapunzel would be this upset over verbal insults. She's heard such things before, and although they anger her she usually calms down and brightens up if given time. No, Eugene, this isn't anger. This is heartbreak."

He swallows and shifts uncomfortably. "It's just been a long day."

"And now you're making it longer."

"Is there any chance we could not talk about this?"

"No."

"It's not really any of your business." He knows he's on thin ice with that one, but he's running out of excuses and he's starting to flail.

"Of course," she says. "Please continue to brood in solitude. I'm sure eventually you will come up with something resembling a solution."

He frowns. "No need to get snippy."

She shrugs ever so politely. "Glass houses."

"Ugg. Fine. You want to know?" He leans forward and his voice drops down again. "She attacked me – totally out of the blue – and said that she wants to get married."

The queen blinks at him.

"Married!" he shouts, the volume restrained to a whisper that makes his voice crack.

"Oh dear."

"I know! It's nuts."

She nods, looking thoughtful. "I take it she didn't take your rejection very well."

"I didn't reject her."

"…Then I'm very confused."

"I told her I had to think on it. That's different."

The queen rolls her eyes. "Oh, Eugene, you know nothing about women."

"Hey. I know _plenty_ about women."

"The fact that you just said that to me shows that you don't."

He has to think on that one for a second.

"Don't you remember what it was like to be eighteen and in love?" she asks.

"No."

"Alright. Do you remember what it was like when you were eighteen and you watched your friends who were in love?"

He tries to remember. He's never really had many friends, but bringing this up would just be petulant, so he thinks up the closest situation he experienced to what she's describing. "It was like I was taking crazy pills."

"Exactly."

"Soooo… what?"

"So be gentle with her and watch what you say, because you are taking crazy pills and you will be for a very long time."

"Great."

"Hmmm, and maybe you should explain some of your hesitancies to her. I don't think she understands about your fear of commitment."

"Fear of commitment? I died for her! That's as committed as it gets!"

"Yes. But your death does not involve her wearing a wedding dress."

He stares at her as that cold horror crawls back up into his chest. "You're kidding me."

"Yes. A bit," she admits with a smile. "It's fun."

He shakes his head to clear it and looks out the window in time to see the castle gates creak open. "Crazy pills," he mutters.

He reaches out to gather Rapunzel up into his arms when they come to a stop. The queen brushes a strand of her hair away from her face, and helps to arrange the princess' arms so they don't dangle. He carries her away from the queen and the servants that are now swarming the carriage to grab their luggage, and into the castle where her face is illuminated by torchlight, displaying thick tear tracks that almost seem to glow. Something twists in his heart at the sight and he adjusts his hold on her to pull her closer so he can press his lips to her forehead and continue to walk.

Carrying someone around is not nearly as easy as everyone seems to think it is, even if it's someone as small and light as Rapunzel. Sure, he's carted her around dozens of times before because she seems to think that he's some kind of jungle gym and yeah, maybe he's starting to believe her on that point. And yes, he does makes it look easy, but that's just part of why he's so fantastic.

Because he _is_ fantastic. He just has to remind her of that, and then remind himself, and eventually they'll be ok again.

"Eugene?"

He looks down to see that her lips are pressed together in a frown as she refuses to meet his eyes.

"Hey," he says, trying to sound nice and unthreatening and apologetic.

"I can walk."

He stops for a moment in the empty hallway. The servants haven't descended upon the area yet to get the princess ready for bed and unpack her luggage and build up her fire, and without their buzzing presence the passage feels deserted and chilled. Or maybe it's just the look in her eyes that makes him feel that way.

He starts walking again. "Nah. I got it."

"Put me down," she snaps, then starts to struggle so much he nearly drops her.

"Ouch. Don't kick me."

"Put me down."

"Oof. Hey!"

He decides to set her down, but he grabs her hand as she starts to walk off. She tries to pull away, but he holds her tight and she ends up rounding on him. Her eyes flicker back and forth between anger and tears, as her nose wrinkles and twitches in irritation, which would be cute if it were directed at anyone other than him.

"Let go."

"No. I don't like seeing you this upset, so we're going to have it out right now."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because… arg, I don't know why! I just know that I'm mad and I don't want to look at you."

It feels like a blow to the stomach, but he tries to let it pass over him as much as possible. "I've got issues. You know that. It's not horribly surprising. And when you spring something that major on me I'm going to freak out a little bit. It's not about you. It's about everything else."

"I know! I know, I know. But…Arg!" She grabs at her hair in frustration, squeezing her eyes closed. "I just can't stand it. The way people talk about you. It's awful! And there's such an easy way to fix it, but you won't do it!"

"Rapunzel," he takes her cheeks in both hands, forcing her to look up at him. "Hey, now. Calm down. It's alright."

She stares up at him, her big, green eyes sparkling with unshed tears, mesmerizing and heartbreaking. A second later she throws her arms around his neck, and he pulls her close, enveloping her small form, wanting to hold her and protect her and never let her go.

"Marriage isn't some easy fix. And people aren't going to stop talking shit about me just because we get married." He pulls back enough to give her a small smile and run a thumb over her cheeks to wipe away the tears. "They'll hate me no matter what. So you know what? Fuck 'em. They're not worth getting upset over. What you and me have going is between you and me and nobody else. So let's just take our time, ok? We can go at our own pace."

Her shoulders slowly relax as she searches his face. "What about your issues? They'll still be there."

"I'm sure you can beat them out of me if you try hard enough."

The corner of her mouth twitches towards what might be a grin. "I do like challenges."

"Oh, then you'll love me."

Her smile finally cracks, lighting up her face like the sun. "I do."

"Friends again?"

"…Maybe."

"What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Hmmm." She adjusts her hold around his neck, something glittering in her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

"Uh, chocolate? And flowers?" She looks amused, but not impressed. "No, you're right. Those suck. I'll, uh… take you someplace. Anywhere you want to go. All day. Just you and me… And I can buy you something nice… Or I could steal you something very nice."

"Eugene!"

"Ok, ok. Uh… how about a good hallway make out session?"

"Oh, I like that one."

"Do you?"

"Sounds fun."

"Well, if it's the only way."

She grins as she drags him down into a kiss.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

His back slams up against the wall, knocking the breath out of him and sending a painful shudder through his shoulders, but it doesn't make him stop kissing her. Her fingers grapple in his hair, pulling at his neck as she balances on her tiptoes to reach him better. He holds her close, tight against his chest, nearly lifting her clear off the ground, but then she would lose all the traction she has and she wouldn't be able to shove him against the wall anymore, which she apparently enjoys doing.

She throws him back again with one hand and her shoulder and her chest, and yanks down on his hair with the other, and a searing pain rips through his neck.

"Ow. Shit, Goldie."

"Sorry," she gasps, then seals her lips over his again, and suddenly he doesn't care if she beats him to death as long as he can still taste the softness of her lower lip.

Rapunzel likes it rough. Who knew?

And now all the clasps are undone on his vest and her leg wraps around his hip and he's squeezing her ass with such a hunger, such a need to grip her flesh that she moans into his mouth, sending vibrations running straight down to his stomach.

And now he's lifting her, pulling her close, and she's climbing him like a tree, hooking her leg over his arm for support and raising herself up until she's the taller one and he has to look up to find her lips. He eventually gives up and buries his face against her neck, leaving a hot trail down to her collar bone, leaving a bite mark against her breast that has her squeezing him tight between her legs.

From somewhere in the background, from the world outside of Rapunzel's hands and chest and legs and gasping breath, he hears the servants coming their way, and somehow through the tangle of limbs and the fumbling of his hands in the dark, he maneuvers them into the nearest room, where she kicks the door closed and scrambles for the lock, grinning against his ear as the crowd bustles past. Then she starts nibbling, and the delicate feel of her teeth and her tongue makes him groan and grip at the back of her dress.

"Shh," she whispers, and her breath against his damp ear has him biting down on his lip and hissing.

She squirms to get closer, completely unconcerned that they might topple over at any moment, and he finds himself compressed snuggly between her and the door as her tongue presses hungrily to his neck.

He's never really let someone have their way with him before. Maybe a few times when he was super drunk, but he doesn't remember much of those, so they don't count. He's always been the one to do the pleasing and the torturing, to set the pace and stay in command. But for the first time – no, it's not the first time she's done this to him, it's just the first time she's done this while she pulls at his vest and tosses it to the floor. For the first time he's letting her wildly sweep him up with her.

It's – his brain sticks for a moment before he can admit it – exciting. For once he doesn't know what to expect and it's new and it's different, so much so that it's almost a completely different experience. This time he cares and his emotions carry him forward like a wave, and he's lost all that suave control as he falls into her, wanting to wrap himself up in her scent, wanting to be part of her, wanting her to hold him tighter.

And it's freeing. Her fingernails scrape through the stubble on his cheek and it's like a spark runs up through his jaw, and he no longer cares about anything, not his reputation or his pride, all he cares about is the feel of her skin and the ache in his muscles and how he can possibly please her enough so she makes that noise again.

He recognizes that there's possibly something to say about trust in this situation, but the thought is wiped away completely with the new question of how is she able to bend her leg like that. Good God!

She writhes against him, a firm rock of her hips against his and a roll of her diaphragm to drag herself across his chest. He squeezes her tighter, guiding her to rub against him and relieve some small amount of stress, but he utterly fails as she winds him tighter, and within moments he's grabbing at her skirts, pulling the layers and layers of netting up around her hips so she can be closer, so he can feel the softness of her skin in his hand, so she can have more freedom of movement.

She starts to gasp, her forehead pressed to his, her arms locked and trembling around his neck, and it takes him a moment to realize that she really is having trouble breathing. He almost drops her in his hurry to undo all the hundred buttons down the back of her dress to get to her corset, but she gasps out a giggle and shifts their weight again before kissing him in an exceptionally distracting way.

He pulls her corset apart with a ripping series of pops and she lets out a shocked little yelp and clenches around him.

"You alright?" The words come out strangled and he swallows down the knot in his throat and squeezes his eyes shut, burying his face against her shoulder in his attempt not to pounce on her until she's less startled.

She takes a deep gulp of air and nods. "Yes… yes, I can breathe again."

"Then I'm doing something wrong."

"You're not kissing me."

"Sorry."

She guides his face up to kiss him, and it is so perfectly sweet, so simple and effortless and undemanding and so wildly at odds with the way he's massaging her ass in time with the movements of her hips, and the feel of the bare skin of her back as he traces the delicate curves of her spine and her shoulder blades, and the way he slips his hand around through the loosened fabric of her dress to tease her breast.

She breaks away long enough to moan his name, then she claims his lips again more fervently. There's a sheen of sweat on her skin that makes him want to taste her, to bite her, and she grows warmer in his arms, her pulse growing wild beneath his fingers. Roaming hands grab at his shoulders and her side and his arms and her thigh and his ass until he just has to grab her. She gasps and bites his lip and the jolt echoes through his brain and quickens the pace of his fingers, because she needs him and she wants him and the desperation with which she soaks up every sensation he gives her makes him burn.

Her back arches and her arms tense and she breathes out a single, completed "Oh."

Then holding her becomes like trying to hold water in cupped hands and he sinks onto the nearest piece of furniture – a desk covered in papers. He sinks back onto it, pulling her along with him, not caring about wrinkling someone's work or knocking over little knickknacks. He closes his eyes and tries to calm down.

After a moment she giggles and runs a finger along his cheek. That definitely doesn't help him to calm down. He looks down at her and her ridiculously sexy bedroom eyes and promptly turns his attention to the ceiling.

"So am I forgiven?"

She sighs and rests her head against his chest, pulling back into herself a bit. "I suppose so."

"That's not really a yes."

"It's not," she agrees. "I don't know. Can I still be mad at how frustrating you are, even if I'm not really mad at you?"

"I… yes?"

"Hmm…" She props up her chin and looks down at him with her eyebrows drawn together, leaving a crease across her forehead. He instinctively reaches up to soothe it away. "Have I beaten your issues out of you yet?"

"…uh…"

She sighs and drops her head back against his chest in disappointment.

"You know, Goldie, if this is your new method to beat things out of me, you're more than welcome to try again."

"I'm serious, Eugene."

He stops trailing his fingers over the shell of her ear and reaches out to cup her face. "I know, Rapunzel."

She slowly moves up to kiss him - a soft, "I guess we'll have to agree to disagree" kiss.

Eugene's never had one of those before. He's not sure if he likes it.

She leans back and considers him a moment, then straightens up and smiles. "Now, help me get my corset back on. And then help me find my shoe."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

It's early, but not nearly as early as that prick page usually wakes him, so there's not really any use arguing as Rapunzel throws open the door to his bedroom and declares that it's a beautiful day.

"Get up, Eugene!" she cheers, bouncing onto his bed and ruffling his hair. "We're supposed to be at Lord Wesley's manor still, so they haven't had time yet to give us anything to do."

"If I don't need to be doing anything, then why am I not asleep?" he asks, propping himself up groggily with an elbow.

"Because it's snowing!"

He groans and flops back down.

She immediately starts poking him in the ribs, which tickles like crazy, but he's not going to admit it. "Come on! I heard from one of the cooks that when it snows you can lie down in it and make shapes that look like fairies. And you can sculpt it into different shapes and make statues."

"You can't fool me into thinking you haven't seen snow before."

"I have," she says. "One time, I left the trap door in the ceiling open so that the snow fell into the tower, and Pascal and I got to play in it. But it wasn't nearly as much as is outside now, and now I won't get in trouble when it all melts!"

Eugene finds this image thoroughly depressing. How much snow could you really get from a little trap door? He imagines her mopping up the puddle as an evil old bat gives her a deprecating lecture while sitting by a roaring fire, drinking something warm and alcoholic. In his head the puddle is much larger than the little pile of fluffy snow that would have made her so dazzlingly happy.

"Alright, Blondie. We'll go play. But watch yourself. I'm going to get you back for getting me up this early."

She grins at him and pulls him to his feet. "If we don't go now it'll all be ruined."

"You can ruin snow?"

"Yes. We need to get to it while it's still fresh before someone comes and messes it all up."

He plasters on a smile and keeps it to himself that snow is horrible. It's cold and wet and it will bite into your fingers and gnaw at your ears. It's definitely not going anywhere soon, no matter what she might think about people messing it up or possibly stealing it. No, it will just sick around for months and turn to black ice and slush and make it downright dangerous to sleep outside.

She follows him to his closet, and excitedly starts pointing at things he should wear to keep warm when she decides he's taking too long. He has to kick her out of the closet so he can change in peace, but then he immediately regrets it when he realizes that that would have been the perfect opportunity to both feel her up and distract her from going outside and getting frostbite.

He hates snow.

When he reappears, she looks him over before telling him that he needs gloves, because the cooks told her to wear gloves. For her it wasn't hard to find a pair because formal ladies wear gloves all the time. "But don't worry. I found a pair for you and they look like they might fit."

He barely understands what she says because she's talking so fast in her excitement, but when he pieces together that she wants him to wear the pair of black gloves she picked out for him he has to put a stop to it. There's no way those gloves are going to fit him. And there's no way in hell he'd be caught wearing them.

He also thinks that she missed the point completely when she shows him her own pair. They're made of red silk and trimmed with lace and go up to her elbows and she fidgets with them repeatedly, fisting and unfisting her fingers. She wasn't going to let her discomfort over how clammy her hands are growing bring her down, but after discovering that Eugene doesn't really want to wear the gloves she brought for him and doesn't really want to go outside at all, she's starting to doubt the whole thing.

Eugene hates snow. But he hates that uncertain look on her face more.

He bites the bullet and pulls the extra pair of gloves away from her before tossing them away. He then strips the gloves she's wearing off, completely ignoring how nice it is to peel clothing away from her soft skin and how her breath catches a bit as his fingers drag down the inside of her arm.

Yep. Completely ignoring it. Doesn't even notice.

"What we need are mittens, not fancy lady gloves."

She blinks up at him. "What are mittens?"

"They're gloves but they keep you warm. And they pull all your fingers together. Like this." He demonstrates with his hand in a way that's not terribly descriptive.

She doesn't seem too excited about the prospect of not being able to move her fingers individually, and gives them an exploratory wiggle. "The cooks said gloves."

"If you really want gloves, we'll find you some warm ones. But snow gloves and ball-gown gloves are different. And trust me, mittens will keep you warmer, especially if you're planning on playing around in the snow."

She brightens. "Where do we find some?"

That's actually a good question and he doesn't exactly know the answer. His first thought is that they should "borrow" some from the guards or the stable hands or the falconers. His second thought is that they should go into town and buy some. Then he remembers that they live in a castle and all they really have to do is ask.

So twenty minutes later they find themselves in the snow covered gardens, adequately prepared in mittens and scarves and hats. One of the handmaids even thought to bring Goldie a warm pair of boots, which the princess found highly entertaining.

"It crunches," she squeals, carefully setting one booted foot down, as if trying as hard as she can to not disturb the snow covering. She giggles as her foot sinks, compressing a few inches of snow with a noise like falling leaves.

He grins at her and takes hold of her elbow as she bends to inspect the snow's depth. As much as he fights against it, her enthusiasm is contagious. Plus he's not that cold yet. Once he's cold he'll probably go back to being grumpy.

"So what do we do first?" she asks, her eyes dancing with contained excitement.

"What do you want to do?"

"Can we make a snow statue?"

"You mean like a snow man?"

"Yes! But I want to make a snow kitten."

"…ok."

"So how do we do that?"

"You know… I have no idea."

She pauses a moment in her inspection of a frozen hedge. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he says, chewing over his words carefully before speaking. "I think the way you make a snow man is to get a really big snowball - like this tall – for the body, and then get another big snowball that's a little bit smaller and put it on top for the head. But I don't know how you would go about making a cat."

"Oh. Well. Maybe we should start with something more basic."

"Sounds good."

They start packing snow together, building it up layer by layer, as Blondie tries to disrupt the surrounding snow as little as possible, taking a handful then smoothing the rest back out, placing her feet carefully to avoid any unnecessary crunching.

While she works she creates an elaborate back story for the snowman. He's an Admiral in the navy, who's visiting the castle while his ship is being repaired because it was attacked by a sea monster. The sea monster thought that the ship was his friend Stanley the Sea Monster. But when he went to give Stanley a high five and Stanley exploded into a million shards of timber he realized that he had been mistaken.

"Mmm," Eugene says. "Happens to the best of us."

"It happens to me all the time. The other day I got Derek the gardener and Ralph the steward mixed up. It was so embarrassing, but they do have the same hair cut."

"They do," he agrees. It's about the only feature they share, but they do have the same haircut.

He tries to hide it, but after the third time the giant snowball cracks open under his hands like an egg and spills out fluffy snow onto the ground it becomes painfully obvious that Eugene has no idea what he's doing. Rapunzel bites her lip and looks down at the disaster, her eyebrows drawing together but not wanting to say something to make him feel bad about himself.

He hates that he's ruining this for her. He tries to run a hand through his hair, but in his frustration he forgets that he's wearing a hat. And that he's wearing mittens. And that his mittens are wet.

Shit, he hates snow.

She peels off her mitten to help him, brushing the snow from his forehead and readjusting his hat before cupping her chilled hand against his numb cheek.

"You haven't done this before either, have you?"

"No," he admits. "But I'd heard about it and it didn't sound so hard."

"Maybe we can find someone who knows what they're doing and they can teach both of us."

Honestly, he'd rather be ignorant on the issue of snowman construction than _ask_ someone to teach him something that every normal child manages to figure out.

"You want me to find you a better teacher?" he asks.

"No," she says, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. "I want to spend the day with you, because you're the best."

"You're sweet, Blondie."

She beams at him, and somehow he feels warmer. Maybe it's from her body heat.

"Show me something different."

"Different?"

"Something you know about."

"Ah." He pulls back from her and gathers up a handful of snow. He holds out his hands so she can watch as he compresses the snow between his palms and shapes it with his fingers. She watches him carefully, wondering what the difference is between what he's doing and what he did when making the snow man. He pulls one hand back to show her an oddly shaped lump in his hand.

Then her rears back and throws it at her, hitting her in the arm and causing her to squeak.

He takes several quick steps back from her and grins, waiting for her retaliation. But she just stares at him with a stunned look on her face that seems to say, "Why would you do something like that? How could you _betray_ me? Betrayal via snow, which is the worst thing ever."

His face falls. "Rapunzel." He hurries back to her, reaching out for her hand. "Rapunzel, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

There's a split second before it happens when he catches the impish sparkle in her eyes, and he has enough time to think _oh shit_, before she lunges, throwing her weight at him and tackling him to the ground. She doesn't bother forming snowballs, opting instead for a rapid fire assault of loose snow, as she pins him to the ground and grapples with his hands, laughing hysterically even as he flips them over, traps her hands over her head, and rubs a handful of snow against her neck.

She yelps and laughs and squirms, and the way her eyes shut and her nose wrinkles and the way her cheeks are flushed with cold has him grinning and then kissing her. Hot kisses against chilled skin. Warm breath against nerves raw and vulnerable form the cold. She sighs contentedly, kissing him back, slipping her hands from his to pull him closer –

Pull him closer and chuck a snowball against his face.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Sometimes Rapunzel gets this look in her eyes. It's a sparkle when she figures out how to use her newly found powers for mischief. Or as Eugene calls it in his head, "evil."

Like when she discovered that as long as she slathers complements onto the kitchen staff, they will enthusiastically show her exactly how they make such a wonderful sauce and then they'll say, "Here, dear. Do you want to try?" Like when she realized that she could scare away any court ladies that were annoying her just by having Pascal leap at them. Like when she realized that she could get away with practically anything as long as Eugene was standing next to her. Everyone suspected him of wrong doing so much that they stopped paying attention to her and how she hadn't bowed exactly right or how she had rubbed off most of her makeup. It was the look she got when she realized that swaying her hips was a turn on, and would make Eugene stupidly agree to just about anything.

He both loves and hates that look.

And the fact that her dad now has that same evil twinkle in his eyes is beyond disturbing.

They both think they're so smart. They both think they're so funny. And they're both kind of right. If he had been anyone else looking in on the situation, he would laugh about it too.

"Did you have a good day, Eugene?" the man asks, his smirk hidden behind his beard.

"Peachy," Eugene says, dropping a napkin into his lap and attempting to focus solely on his dinner salad in hopes that the conversation will end. Yes, you're hilarious. Yes, I know you're getting a kick out of this. Yes, you win.

Goldie doesn't pick up on this and looks up excitedly. "Oh really? What did you do?"

He scratches his head, which is something Phil has told him not to do about a billion times. "Today I learned about the redistribution of revenue from non-voluntary payments to the government."

The queen gives a very delicate cough that he has come to recognize as her version of a snort.

"Oh! You mean taxes!" Rapunzel says. "They're a bit boring, but if you need any help studying I know all about them."

A bit boring is an understatement, especially since the accountant who is his instructor this week has a voice that drones on like a deep, raspy lullaby. In an attempt not to fall asleep, Eugene counted the tiles on the floor three times, wrote out a forty point list of things he'd rather be doing, and made up words to the song that Rapunzel had been humming the evening before. The lyrics go like this: _This is so dull / I want to leave / So dull dull dull dull dull / This is so dull / I want to leave / But I can't. Fan- / Fucking-ta-ast-ic._

Metered poetry is not Eugene's strong suit.

"Did you know the part about how I've _never_ paid taxes?" Ever. Why would he? Paying taxes is for losers who own houses.

The king's tone turns mildly scolding, but that awful twinkle in his eyes only gets brighter. "Don't admit that fact in front of me."

"As if you didn't already know. That's what this whole thing is about, right? Getting back at me for all my misdeeds."

The king grins.

"Eugene," Rapunzel chides. "You should pay your taxes. It's your civic duty."

Oh good grief. "Yeah, and that tower you lived in was tax-free reality."

Her eyes go wide. "Oh no! I've never paid taxes either!" She glances guiltily at her parents, as the king tries to hide how amused he is by pretending to take a very long drink from his goblet.

The queen gives Eugene a dirty look for getting the princess all riled up. "Don't worry about it, dear. You'll make up for it through your service to the community, just the same as Mr. Fitzherbert."

Rapunzel's shoulders sag in relief, and she grins at Eugene. _We both got off with community service! Yay!_

"I was thinking," the king said, setting down his goblet and letting the smile ease from his face, "the tax allocation meeting is on Thursday, so we'll most likely get around to distributing the money to the public services in a few weeks. I think you should go with Rapunzel for the distribution."

Rapunzel gasps and bites her lip to hold back a squeal. "I get to go? That'll be so exciting!"

Eugene just stares at him. "You want _me_ to go around to the hospitals and _give_ people money?"

"The hospitals, and the schools, and the orphanage, and probably some other places… like the fire brigade. We won't know exactly who gets what until Thursday."

He bites down a wince. "The orphanage?"

"Yes. I was thinking it'd be a good experience for you. And if any bandits attempt to attack the carriage I'm sure you could fend them off."

This is a strange thing to say as the carriage full of gold would surely be protected by about a dozen palace guards, all of whom would be eyeing Eugene just as much as everyone else on the street.

Is this some kind of test to see if he'll steal it? He has to admit that a part of him – a deep hidden part that he's no longer listening to, but a part none the less – is already planning it. Maybe he could whisk Blondie off at the same time and they could live happily someplace where he would never have to hear about influencing microeconomic performance or governmental accountability. But honestly, if he hasn't stolen anything by now is there really any lingering doubt?

Yes, of course there is, not from the king and queen, but from others. So maybe this is to prove to everyone else that he can be trusted around large quantities of cash that's supposed to go to feed sickly, uneducated orphans. Who are on fire. You'd have to be a really twisted asshole to steal from flaming, coughing children. Even Flynn Rider wouldn't have done it. (Because he'd never thought of it.)

So this adventure might be his chance to show up some naysayers and win over some people who are still a bit unsure about his transformation. He'll flash his handsome face at people, do good deeds, kiss some babies… Oh, the king's a crafty one.

Rapunzel helps him study that night. His book is dull and uses a bunch of jargon that he could understand if he tried, but he doesn't want to try. Eventually she takes it from him, puts it away, makes herself comfortable, and starts to tell him everything to book covers. She actually seems excited to do it too. She's gathered up so much knowledge that she's just bursting to share it, to show how much she's learned, to prove that she's been trying and in some way succeeding. Of course, Eugene's not the one she has to prove things to, but he's _there_ and that's always been good enough for her.

She tries her best to make it interesting, stopping to tell him anecdotes about her instructor dropping stacks of books, sharing all the odd ways that she remembers new terminology, and using metaphors that only she would ever come up with. A little part of him is actually starting to get it, and that terrifies him into shutting off his brain and focusing on the texture of her hair, the music of her voice, the gentle curves of her ear, her cheek, her lips.

He traces a finger slowly over her bottom lip, marveling at how the delicately plump flesh dimples beneath his touch. She trails off to stare up at him, her eyes wide and entrancing, the deep green of siren song.

He blinks once and averts his eyes. "Sorry. You were saying that something's like… uh, pie filling?"

He chances a glance back down at her just in time to catch her eyebrows contract for a second in confusion. She looks down at the hand he's dropped to her arm, and with the same care she would give to the finest crystal, she lifts it up and inspects it, cradling it in her hands before gently tracing the lines across his palm and the invisible scar where she once healed him. He never would have guessed that such a small act could make his skin tingle so much. It's almost painful and his fingers twitch in her hand as she marks a trail up the length of his forefinger. She pulls at the tendons of his fingers, at the muscles in his arm, at the strings of his heart, and all the nerves rushing to his groin. She draws up every fiber of his being, pulls them taut, sets them burning with anticipation, and bundles them together in a tangled knot in the palm of his hand.

She looks up at him out of the corner of her eye just to see his reaction, and he realizes that he must look pretty ridiculous with his slack jaw and tensed muscles, but she takes this as confirmation that she's doing something right and she gently lifts his hand back to her lips, pressing a kiss against the heart of his palm, against the knot of prickling cords begging, singing for her to touch them. He takes in a deep shuttering breath as the pressure of her soft lips disrupt the tension she painstakingly built.

She drags her parted lips up the length of his finger, leaving behind the most tantalizing hint of moist skin, then she licks her way back down to his palm, and his hand spasms at her attentiveness to every firm muscle, at the heat of her breath and the wetness as her tongue wraps around him. His free hand clenches against her waist, thin silk sliding over her firm muscles, and she moves under his touch, pulling herself closer so the heat of her presses against him in the most relieving way possible. Her eyes flutter closed and she plants a firm kiss at the base of the digit, then starts to work her way back up.

He grips her tight, maybe too tight, gripping her so she can feel what she's doing to him, so she can know exactly how dizzy and lustful he's becoming, how there's an urgent pull in his groin and a shallowness to his breath. A soft hum of pleasure passes from her lips to his skin to run straight to the base of his spine.

And she slips the tip of his finger seamlessly into her mouth and _sucks_, and for a moment he imagines that it's not her lips squeezing him, that it's not his finger she's circling with her tongue.

For a moment a blind need overwhelms him like a heat wave collapsing against his bones, and he has to yank his hand away before he does something really bad. "Stop. Stop, stop, stop."

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

He can imagine her face, scared and wide eyed and anxious, but he can't bring himself to look at her. He takes several deep breaths and keeps his eyes closed. "No. You're great. You're… really great."

"Then what's wrong?" Her arm slips around his neck in an attempt to get him to look at her. She shifts her weight, rocking her hips against him and pressing her chest to his. It's unintentional, and it's all in the name of concern, but it's not helping him at all.

He hisses through his teeth. "If you keep doing that I'm going to do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like fuck you."

…

Oops.

Oh great, and now he's looking at her again.

She blinks a few times in rapid succession, trying to process this new bit of information. Then she glances back and forth between his darkened face and his hand, which has now settled itself on her thigh. And when did that happen?

"Eugene-"

"Tell me more about… aww crap, what was it you were talking about?"

"Eugene-"

"Rapunzel," they stare at each other for a moment, and he makes an effort to unclench his fingers, which might very well be bruising her. "You're just too sexy, so stop torturing me and tell me about taxes."

She gives him a look that he can't exactly place, just a tilt of her head and a twitch of her nose. "You said a few minutes ago that taxes were torture."

"Better of two evils."

"I'm not evil."

"I beg to differ, Goldie."

She grins and slips away - not too far, but he misses the feel of her anyway. He groans and runs his hands over his face to try to get some feeling back into it, and she starts to talk again as though nothing happened.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

"I've been thinking."

"About what, Blondie?"

"If we got married, we could have sex."

Eugene pauses in his act of tightening up Maximus' saddle, draws his eyebrows together, and watches her as she clasps her hands behind her back and rocks back on her heels with a smug look on her face.

He quickly scans the area to see if there's anyone within earshot, but all the servants and accountants and guards are distracted, hurrying around shouting at each other while they try to get all the gold on the cart and squared away, still clinging to the chance that they might leave on time. Eugene was ready to go a half hour ago, and he offered to help out, but they gave him a definitive _no_ and told him to back off. It wasn't a surprising response.

With everyone distracted, he figures that the coast is clear for them to have a hushed conversation, until he remembers that the horse is there. Maximus cranes his neck around to unleash a glare.

"Don't give me that. She's the one that brought it up."

The horse turns to Rapunzel and narrows his eyes to inspect her, but she makes a kissy face and scratches his ears, so Max turns his glare back on Eugene.

That doesn't seem very fair, but then again he's never won an argument with the horse anyway, so her feminine wiles aren't really affecting anything.

He takes a deep breath and leans back as casually as he can, folding his arms over his chest. "Where'd this new idea come from?"

"My etiquette teacher told me that's how it works."

"Did she?"

"Uh huh."

"She couldn't have explained this to you a few months ago?"

"Well… she didn't want to talk about anything useful. I asked and she just turned red and told me that 'men of ill repute would try to steal my virtue.'"

"Ah." He turns back to Max's saddle.

"I think she was talking about you."

"How 'bout that."

"But she did say that once I was married I could give my virtue to my husband. And at first I thought that meant that if we got married, everyone would know you were a good person, because you'd have virtue. But then I figured out she was talking about sex. It's an odd euphemism, isn't it?"

"Yep."

"So what do you think," she asks.

"I think they're almost ready to go."

"No, about getting married."

"I've told you what I think about that."

"But don't you want to have sex?"

He stops again and blinks at her. She looks genuinely confused, and he shakes his head and turns away again. "You're a tease."

"And you need to get over yourself."

He snorts.

"Come on," she says. "That way we'll both win."

"Both win? You act like you won't enjoy the sex part of this deal."

Max shoves him, and he elbows the monster in the side in response.

Goldie blushes, but makes a valiant effort towards covering it. "And maybe you'll like the marriage part. Remember how you thought you wouldn't like the floating lanterns, but you had a good time anyway?"

"Yeah, good times… getting knocked unconscious… thrown in prison… thinking you were kidnapped by dimwitted criminals with a hair fetish."

"I meant before that."

He sighs. "I know."

He meets her eyes again to offer her a soft, little smile, which makes her blush more.

Then his eyes narrow. "Just a second… You're trying to bribe me again. If I marry you, you'll give me something I want. This is the satchel fiasco all over again!"

"You just agreed that turned out for the best."

"You're not going to be able to get _everything_ you want that way, Blondie."

She shrugs. "It's worked well so far."

He has to give her that one.

"Give me your foot," he says, bending so she can set her foot in his cupped hands. He easily hoists her up onto Max's back, where she settles herself while he climbs up behind her.

It was expected that if the princess was going to go on this trip, then she would ride in a royal carriage that would parade along in front of the cart full of money. So when it was announced that Rapunzel would be going with them there were a few hours of hysteria while they tried to organize everything that would be involved in such an endeavor. But then Eugene put a stop to it, saying that it would be best for everyone if he just took her on Maximus.

Not only would there be a distinct lack of motion sickness and claustrophobia, but Rapunzel would also have the chance to ogle the city and wave at everyone and talk to people and probably stop for souvenirs and pastries. She would have a great time, and the people in town always liked seeing her. It would also provide prime baby kissing opportunities for Eugene, but that was secondary to Goldie's happiness.

But regardless of how great an idea this was, the suggestion was greeted with outrage that escalated into a shouting match between Eugene, the steward, and the stable master, and only ended when the queen showed up and explained Rapunzel's dislike of carriages. She said almost the exact same thing Eugene had said, just in a softer voice. Now the steward was feeling personally insulted for some reason, and he was directing all his anger towards Eugene. Not that he cared.

He sets an arm around her waist and pulls Maximus around to wait for the rest of the caravan to get their act together.

"I'd be a good wife," she says.

"I'm sure you would."

"I'd be good at sex too."

He freezes. Then he looks down at her and her perfectly innocent smile – innocent and eager to please, one that makes him want to abandon this whole field trip into town and carry her off somewhere to find out just how good she could be. It's also a smile that sets off several alarm bells that scream, "She doesn't know what she's saying!" "You're a terrible, horrible person!" "She's trying to get you to agree to something. Watch out!" "Stop staring at her like that. Get a hold of yourself!"

He gulps and looks away, only to lock eyes with Max, who has never looked so horrified.

"See what I have to deal with?"

Maximus nods his head very slowly, staring at Rapunzel like he's never seen her before.

"What?" she asks.

"Quit trying to seduce me."

Yeah. That's a sentence he never thought he'd say. And now he feels stupid for saying it.

"Look," he says, lowering his voice and trying again, "where would we be if I agreed to a deal like that? If we get married, I want you to know that it's because we've really got something. Not because I want to get laid or because I want people to stop giving me dirty looks. Does that make sense?"

She bites her lip. "A little bit."

He plants a quick kiss against her temple and straightens his posture as one of the guards rides up to announce that they are ready to depart.

Eugene doesn't delude himself into thinking that her excitement over a day in the city has ended the conversation. It's just on an extended hiatus while she's distracted, and the debate will most likely pick right back up that evening or the next day or the day after, and she will have had time to come up with new arguments and he'll have had time to think about how soft her skin is and how good it tastes when it's sweaty.

He has a feeling he's not going to win this war, but by God he's going to put up a fight.

They barely make it three blocks before she tries to get Eugene to stop so she can watch a group of boys playing a game. He has to remind her that they're on a schedule and it wouldn't really do to have such a large chunk of the treasury sitting in the middle of the street while she plays a game of sardines. They can do all the exploring she wants on the way back. She agrees, on the condition that he explain to her what sardines is.

She asks a lot of questions about the rules of sardines, some so obscure that he honestly doesn't know the answer. Eventually one of the guards – a new one, who doesn't seem that upset at Eugene's presence and isn't weirded out by the princess' oddness - over hears and steps in to talk at length about his vast experience playing sardines, and she starts quizzing him about the finer points and unlikely contingencies. Eugene never even considered that there would be finer points. You look for someone who's hiding then hide somewhere else until you're the next to last person out and about so you don't have other kids invading your personal space, or you hide until everyone finds you or until you get tired of hiding and come out to discover that you had hidden so well that the other kids had given up looking for you and moved on to tag. He suspects that the new guard is making up most of the rules that he's telling the princess, but that's fine as Eugene will never be involved in a game of sardines with her.

Hopefully.

Their first stop is the fire brigade, where they give the princess a tour while the accountants settle everything and sign way too many papers. The fire brigade excitedly give Rapunzel one of their uniform hats, then show her where they keep all the buckets. They show her the map of the city where all the wells and streams are marked, and she stares at it in fascination, her eyes sparkling but shadowed under her oversized hat. She plays with the dogs, who lick her face and leave her sticky, and there's some talk about letting her slide down the pole from the second floor to the first floor, but then the accountants finish up their work, ruin everyone's fun, and shuffle the party off to the next stop.

She decides that the hat looks better on Eugene, and the new guard laughs and agrees with her.

Their next stop is the school on the west end of the island where a thousand children (seriously, a thousand, Eugene counted) swarm out of the building to crowd around Rapunzel and hug her. If she wasn't already sticky from the dogs, she'll surely be sticky from the all children after this stop. Walking into the building is like wading through a bog, and he has to shift two kids aside every time he takes a step, and when he finally makes it to the classroom they're supposed to hang out in he finds that he has one kid in his arms, balanced against a hip, and another in a piggy back ride on his back.

Goldie thinks this is hilarious, because being assaulted by eight-year-olds is funny.

He raises an eyebrow at her over the head of the boy in his arms, who promptly sneezes on him. Great. Way to mess up his flirting while he's looking compassionate, kid.

Instead of a tour, the school has the younger kids sing a song, which Rapunzel then wants to learn (Eugene can tell) but they move on to having the older students recite before she can ask.

Blondie has never been to school and she finds the entire institution fascinating - everything from the little desks and slates to the picture books and the way the students stand to answer questions. He can see her fingers twitch as she gazes at the chalk boards, her eyes darting back and forth as she plans the mural she could create there. Eugene makes a note to find a way to get her a chalk board. She'd like that. Her mom would like that too as it might protect the three hundred year old crown molding in the princess' bedroom from being painted to look like daisy chains.

He can see the greedy way she watches the clumps of girls, who whisper and giggle with each other. She never had anyone to giggle with aside from Pascal and the thugs from the Snuggly Duckling. At the moment those feel like pitiful imitations, like a shadow of the real thing. He knows how nasty girls can be when they're in groups, but it still doesn't seem right that she should be denied something so basic. Maybe one of her handmaidens, one close to her age, could take up the role of bestie gal pal. But then again, asking someone to be her friend would be all kinds of wrong.

It's going to be way easier to get her a black board.

She's quiet as they leave the school, seeming to sink into herself, to hide by pressing as deeply into his chest as she can. He holds her tighter and murmurs into her ear.

"How ya doin'?"

"Ok," she says.

"You seem less chipper. You need a break?"

"No."

"We can stop and have an early lunch if you're getting overwhelmed."

"I'm fine."

"I could just take you back to the castle if you wanted."

She starts to tell him that she's really alright, but then she pauses to think about his offer. After a moment she shakes her head. "You couldn't get away with it."

"Sure I could. I can do anything. I'll just say, 'Crap! I've lost my frog! Have you seen him? He's about this big, with big, freaky eyes and a taste for ear wax. Is he in your ear? No? Well, we need to go back and look for him then. See ya.' And we'd just turn around and go home."

She snickers quietly and he feels her shoulders relax. Sometimes just knowing there's an exit available makes it easier to keep going.

"I'm ok," she repeats, this time sounding like she means it. "It's just… a lot."

"Yeah."

"But I think it's going well so far, don't you?"

"You know, I think it is."

She beams up at him, the sunlight making her hair shine and her eyes dance, and he grins back, thinking that the day isn't going to be nearly as bad as he expected.

He's wrong.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The tour of the hospital is much more formal than anywhere else they've been. This is mainly because no one dog piles him and they don't give the princess any silly gifts. The two doctors who show Rapunzel and Eugene around act as though they've given this tour before, and this translates into Rapunzel being on her best behavior so as not to disrupt their routine or have them think she's strange.

She could spend all day in the room where they store the medicines. There's so much to take in, stones that are being crushed up in mortars to make fine powders, herbs that hang from the ceiling to dry that smell sweet as smashed berries, vials full of liquids of every color, and jars full of leaches that are both disgusting and fascinating at the same time. She bites down her desire to learn the name of every last ingredient as the doctors hurry them on to the next site.

It's been a few weeks at least since she felt this overwhelmed. She's been doing a good job lately of knowing her limits, of knowing how far she can push herself. She knows the signs of when she needs a break, when she needs to sit and clear all the sensations away. First her shoulders start to feel weak, like she wants to hunch in on herself and hide. Then it gets harder to breathe, not suffocatingly so, but like something heavy is resting on her chest. She feels tight and confined, and at the same time she feels like she might explode while trying to fill the hugeness of the world around her. Then her hands start to shake and at that point she usually drops something.

Her hands started to shake an hour ago.

That's why she would rather spend their tour just in one room. If they're going to show her something, she wants to stop and learn everything about it, so she can understand it and file it away appropriately. Teasing her with hundreds of different things that she's going to have to research later is just mean, and her laundry list of things to look up is getting so long that she's forgotten the first few items she put on it, and that thought just makes the anxiety worse.

Eugene's hand has been at the small of her back since they arrived. He guides her from one room to the next, so she doesn't have to think about it – not that it's much to think about in the first place, but she does recognize that it helps. Every now and then he rubs his thumb against her back in a way that's so reassuring it's almost funny.

Well, it almost makes her burst out in hysterical giggles, but then again that might be more about her nerves than about Eugene.

"…and as you can see," one of the doctors says while leading them down a hallway, "We would like to expand this ward to include-"

He's cut off as a howl rips through the air, long and unearthly and ravaged with pain. She jumps and pulls her hands to her chest, making herself small, trying to cover her heart before the noise can tear it out.

The doctors exchange one anxious glance, then hurry down the hallway towards the scream. Eugene tries to grab her, to hold her back, but she's already darted forward, out of reach. Distantly she hears him swear and chase after her.

It's kind of like a dream, something that she watches without participating, something that's happening around her while she is powerless to stop it. She's had this feeling so many times since she left the tower, since it became clear how much of her life she can't control.

The man stops screaming and starts shaking violently, his eyes rolled back, jerking around wildly on a thin bed while doctors swarm around him, their hands frantic even though she can't make out what they're doing. She can't really see them. With her vision focused on the tortured man everything around him is blurred. She watches as he chokes.

Someone takes hold of her, but before they pull her away there is a moment, a single flash of a glimpse as blood gurgles up and spills over and pours freely out of his mouth. The image burns itself against her eyes so even as she's moved away she can't see where she's going – all she can see is the blood so bright it can't be real and the man's haunted, empty eyes.

She's cold. Cold, and dizzy, and is she shivering or are her hands shaking?

"Breathe for me, alright? Just breathe."

She's sitting on something and someone guides her head down between her knees, plucking her crown from her head before it slips off. She swallows and squeezes her eyes shut, but the blood won't go away. It seeps from her eyes into her mind, then down into her heart and leaves her sticky and dirty and so very, very scared.

"That a girl. You're doing alright. You're going to be ok."

Someone's rubbing her back – and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows it's Eugene, but for some reason knowing it's him only makes her shudder. She wishes the rubbing would stop, because it's making her feel sick.

"Shh. You're doing good. Just keep breathing."

That man is going to die. He might already be dead. He needs help. Someone has to help him.

She lifts her head and pushes herself quickly to her feet. Maybe it's a bit too quickly because she sways before Eugene grabs both her elbows for support, rising from his place kneeling in front of her. She blinks around, realizing that he's taken her outside and that's why it's cold (or part of why it's cold), and he has her crown dangling off his elbow and such a concerned look on his face that she can't even begin to process it.

"Someone has to help him," she says. "Someone has to-" she makes a move back towards the building, but he stops her, and she reaches for her hair, but-

"Woah. Hold on. You need to sit down."

"No. He's dying and I can save him. I can- I-"

She meets his eyes for the first time, and they're so… they're so…

They're so much like they were just before he died.

And now she can't just see the blood, she can feel the stickiness of it, the phantom pulse against her hand as she tries to cover it with her hair – blood so bright it can't be real. And now she can feel his grip on her wrist as he holds her back – or maybe that's actually happening. And now her eyes are clouding with tears.

"Eugene," she sobs, and throws her arms around him, pulling him tight and pressing her cheek against his chest so she can feel his pulse, so she can remember that he is still alive. He enfolds her in his arms, warm and secure and most definitely real, and she contrasts the feeling of his touch, of his cheek against her hair and the moisture of his breath in the cold, with the lingering feeling that her hands are soaked in blood.

"You left me," she whimpers. "You died and left me all alone."

He stiffens and holds her tighter, shutting his eyes against the pain in her voice. He knows. He beats himself up about the same thing, about how he showed her the world and then ripped away everything she knew, everything familiar. Life as she knew it and everyone she loved were destroyed with two quick slashes.

He holds her tighter, as if to say he's sorry. He is. He's sorry he hurt her and he's sorry that it had to come to that. But he's not sorry he did it. He would do it again in a heartbeat.

They stand together like that until her shaking turns to shivers. He pulls back and wipes the freezing tears from her cheeks. Maybe going outside was a bad idea, but he thought that getting some air that didn't smell like sickness would do her some good, and that the cold might snap her back together. He rubs his hands over her arms to try to warm her.

"Come on," he says. "I'll take you home."

"What?"

"Home. Where you live. We'll set you by a fire and feed you something warm and we'll play a game of checkers with Pascal."

Her frown grows more pronounced. "But we're not done with the taxes yet."

"So?"

"So we have to finish."

"They don't need us to finish."

"But people are expecting me. I can't disappoint them."

"No," he says flatly.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I'm not going to let you push yourself any more today."

Her eyes narrow. "You're not going to _let me_?"

He knows this is a trap. He can feel it in the hairs on the back of his neck. So he thinks about his choices for a moment. He could say, _no, do whatever you want,_ and then watch as she has another episode. Or he could hold his ground and have her be mad at him.

He crosses his arms over his chest. "That's right."

She cuts through this show of determination so effectively it's like it never happened. "Stop making decisions for me."

She might as well have punched him. She might as well have renamed her cast iron skillet "Guilt trip" and whacked him over the head with it.

He swallows. "I just… I want you to be alright."

"I'm fine," she says, and there's a defensiveness to her voice that doesn't cover how it's shaking. "I'm going to finish this."

He really doesn't have a leg to stand on to argue with her.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

The thing about Flynn Rider was that he could get anybody to do anything. He could talk or charm or cheat his way out of any situation.

At least that's how Eugene remembers Flynn Rider, but the details are starting to get hazy. Flynn Rider's crushing defeat at the hands of the one girl on Earth who could not be charmed has elevated the way he thinks about his old self to the stature of a legend. He tells himself that things used to be a certain way before Rapunzel, but at this point Eugene has taken over to such an extent that he's starting to doubt if any of it was true. Was he really that great after all or was he just constantly deluding himself? If he was as awesome as he tells himself he was, then why can't he tap into that and get Blondie to quit being crazy?

He doesn't know. What he does know is that Eugene is an unhelpful sap who's going to dig them into a deeper pit before he can man up and act.

So he makes a conscious decision. He is going to be Flynn Rider for the rest of the day and that way they are going to survive this.

The problem is that there's no convincing her to change her mind. He's known this for a while now, and she's not going to change that part of her personality today just because he wants her to. _I'm going to see the floating lights no matter what! I'm going to go on a crazy tour that's giving me multiple panic attacks! I'm going to be sultry and obnoxious until you agree to marry me!_

He hadn't gotten out of the first one. He wasn't going to get out of the second. And the third… Good grief. If he has any room left in his brain to be mad at her he would be, but right now he's busy coming up with a plan. Maybe later he can get upset with her.

Oh good. Something to look forward to.

Since he can't get them out of this by changing Rapunzel's mind, the only thing to do is to change everyone else's. Yes. Ok. That's doable.

She shivers in his arms and he absently pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders and his arm tighter around her waist. She sneaks her hand over his to give it a squeeze, but her eyes remain focused on a spot somewhere between Maximus' ears.

Then he slaps himself, because that's a Eugene thing to do. It's a nice thing to do, but it's still… oh crap, this already isn't working.

He bends his head to murmur in her ear so only she can hear him. Well, Max can probably hear too, but he doesn't count.

"I have a plan," he says, sure to keep his voice calm and pitched in a way that won't startle her, sure not to nuzzle her ear or her neck. "Go along with it, alright?"

"I'm not running away."

"So I've heard. But this isn't running away. We're just changing the rules a bit."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that meeting where we talked about distribution, and it went on forever, and everyone was arguing, and Lord Steven had spinach in his teeth."

"It's hard to forget."

"You remember how everyone was in an uproar about the security in the poor house?"

"The work house," she corrects.

"Follow my lead and this might be a less stressful trip than the others."

She turns her head to give him a skeptical look, but by then they've arrived and he helps her down, noting that she is still acting a bit dizzy.

He makes sure that she's stable, before he puts on his determined face and marches straight up to the head accountant. If you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you might as well use it. And if you act confident enough you can get away with anything.

"Master Perkins, I wish to speak with you on behalf of the princess."

The accountant pauses looking through his stack of documents to raise a pencil thin eyebrow. He is one of the people who would prefer for Eugene to be as far away from him and his loved ones as humanly possible. "Oh really?" His voice creaks skeptically. Ok, maybe confidence isn't all he needs.

"Yes." By now Rapunzel has joined him at his elbow, looking as though she might have another panic attack, and expecting Eugene to stab her in the back by announcing that she wants to go home. "The princess is deeply concerned about the security measures in this institution. She requests to personally inspects the accommodations."

The accountant looks aghast that he hasn't been informed of this change ahead of time. He also looks a bit hurt that someone is questioning his judgment. But thankfully, he directs all this blame at Eugene rather than the princess. Who does Eugene think he is anyway?

He turns to the princess for confirmation and she nods her head slowly, still not entirely sure how Eugene's plan is going to help.

But it's enough. The accountant sighs deeply, agrees to her demands, and shows them inside, leading them straight to an office in the back without stopping to speak or even look at the few dirty children and thin, frail women who peek their heads out for a look at royalty. Rapunzel has her head held high and her eyes locked on the back of the accountant's head, and this leaves Eugene to grin at the children and wink at their mothers, who blush and pull their children back. In a few minutes they won't remember that the new princess didn't give them the time of day. They'll remember that they saw her and she was beautiful and her escort was charming.

The accountant begrudgingly introduces them to the work house director and Rapunzel is so used to introductions by now that she handles herself with poise. Only Eugene can see that her smile does not reach her eyes.

He makes himself taller, clears his throat in a commanding way, and gives the director a fierce glare that nearly makes the man shit himself. "Concerns have been raised about your security. Show us what measures you've taken to alleviate those fears."

It should also be noted that Flynn has pulled this act before. _"I'm here to inspect your security. Show me where your safe is and tell me the combination. Oh, no, no, no, this won't do at all. Give it to me and I'll fix it up for you to make it better. Wouldn't want vandals to come and steal your life savings, would we?"_

But now he's standing next to the princess and he's wearing nice clothes, and he's in the party of government servants, so this is going to be about a million times easier. Especially since the goal is just to waste an hour of time, rather than steal a whole bunch of money. Phil would be proud that he doesn't pull at the collar of his jacket, even though it's getting painfully annoying again.

The director rises, looking frightened and explains that they keep the money here in his office and only he has the key.

Eugene gives him a long, intense look that makes him gulp, then turns to inspect the lock. Maybe those bureaucrats had a point other than "poor people are sketchy and will steal anything." Security here was a joke. If he ever did have a desire to rob the place, it would be too easy. It wouldn't even be fun.

"This is your lock?" he asks with contempt. He sighs theatrically. "Anyone could pick this. It's so easy I bet..." he looks around, as if trying to find a volunteer, "Ah! I bet the princess could do it."

"What? This is nonsense! That door is entirely secure."

Rapunzel's eyes enlarge, and he bows before asking in a whisper that carries, "Do you have two hairpins, your highness?"

She nods slowly, and he grins at the director, guides her outside the office, and waits for the lock to click shut behind them.

"I think this is going well," he murmurs.

"What are you doing?" she hisses. "This is insane!"

"I am going to keep you doing simple and easy tasks until everyone gets done moving money around and then we can move along."

"And having me pick locks is making it easier for me? People are going to think I'm crazy."

"No. They're going to think _I'm_ crazy. They're going to think you're very sweet for putting up with me. Now show 'em what you got."

She narrows her eyes at him, plucks out two hair pins, and sets to work on the lock. Thirty seconds later it pops open with a click, but during that time he watches her as she finds a focus and puts aside her other troubles, even if it's just for those short moments. She straightens up to give him a blank look.

"That's my girl. If we weren't in the middle of something I'd kiss you."

"Too bad we're in the middle of something." With that she opens the door and strides in, much to the director's dismay.

"Yeah, buddy. You're really going to need a better lock on that."

The man swells, puffing out his cheeks indignantly. "You helped her!"

Eugene turns to Rapunzel. "Did I help you?"

"No."

"There you go."

The director splutters, his face growing redder, reminding Rapunzel a bit of Pascal. She misses Pascal right now, and reminds herself that he needs to come with her if they ever do something like this again.

"That's not the only security measure we have!"

"Really? What else you got?"

"We keep the money in a safe."

"And which safe is that?"

"This one!" The man points at a black, metal box in the corner, and for a moment victory gleams in his eyes before he realizes that telling someone where you keep your money is probably not the best safety procedure. His grin fades a bit.

"That safe?" Eugene asks.

The director attempts to hold on to some measure of pride, and laces his voice with defiance. "Yes."

"Huh. I thought you were going to tell me that's a toy."

The man huffs.

"So where do you hide it?"

"What?"

"Well, it's out today because you were expecting us and don't want to show us your hiding place, but where do you keep it the rest of the time?"

"Uh…"

"…You don't just leave it there, do you?"

"So what if I do?"

Eugene sighs and trades a look with Rapunzel. His look says, _Some people, am I right?_ Her says, _Please don't hurt this man's feelings._

He strolls up to the safe, taps it a few times here and there with his finger tips, listening for the subtle changes in pitch, then he takes the butt of his hand and hits it, causing the safe to spring open immediately.

He crosses his arms over his chest as he gives the director a pitying look. "Now do you want to talk about your security problems?"

This does the trick, and Eugene is amazingly proud of himself as he keeps Rapunzel and the director busy for the next hour trying to find a place to hide a safe in an office. Rapunzel looks at this like a kind of game and within a few minutes she's smiling again.

Eugene then gives detailed instructions for what new kind of lock to get and some simple security measures that will make it more difficult for people like Flynn Rider to rob him blind. It'll make it difficult, but not impossible because Flynn Rider could steal anything if he put his mind to it. Rapunzel likes this part too, because she thinks hearing about anything in obsessive detail is interesting. She also likes hearing Eugene's stories about being a dashing rouge, even if they're taken slightly out of context like this.

Her face is relaxed again as they leave, but her shoulders tense as they make their way through the streets again. It's late afternoon and the streets are growing more crowded. A group of kids are trying to fly a kite, which veers dangerously close to her head. A group of women are screaming at a vendor. A dog runs up and snaps at Maximus' feet, causing him to prance sideways and snarl. They can hear a band playing a dance number, but it's impossible to tell which building it's coming from. The street alternates between smelling like bread, and smelling like fish, and smelling like mud, and smelling like paint so rapidly that it makes her head spin.

Their next stop is the asylum, and given the speed that her eyes are darting between every last little thing and that her breathing hasn't felt right in hours, Eugene makes the decision that he is going to do whatever's necessary to keep her from even going inside. He may have to fake some sort of sudden illness or maybe a broken leg or something. It would freak her out, but then they'd go home where she could calm down.

As luck would have it, the director of the asylum meets them out on the front steps and Eugene puts on his "I'm your new best friend" grin and starts saying ridiculous things about the building's architecture.

"Look at that roofing, Blondie. Have you ever seen tiles that shade of red before? That's amazing."

She looks at him like he's crazy, and his craziness is about to make her cry, but then the director hurries forward looking beside himself with glee. "Yes! They are quite spectacular, aren't they. You have a good eye, sir."

"I do, don't I?"

They both laugh. The director laughs because he's _finally_ found someone to talk to about the joy of roof repair. Eugene laughs because he's shocked that this is actually working.

"We imported them from [someplace Eugene's never heard of.]"

"You don't say!"

"Have you ever been there?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Haha! I went there on holiday [at some time for some duration] with my good friend [whose dropped name means nothing to Eugene.]"

"[That guy's name only appropriately shortened]! You don't say. What's he been up to?"

"Retired."

"Good for him. He deserves it after so many years of [random guess at a hobby]."

"He certainly does. That old so-and-so"

"Now tell me more about this roof."

The conversation then moves to the angle of the slope of the roof. Eugene suspects that it would be difficult to climb, especially in winter. The director says that they actually found a way to put a third floor inside the roof and it works great except that the walls are all slanted, which confuses their patients and makes the nurses whack their heads. Rapunzel chimes in in a delicate little voice to say that the angle is actually purposeful so that from afar it holds a ratio that [some Greek guy] thought was the most beautiful thing ever. The director thinks that's the greatest thing he's ever heard.

Then they talk about what the most beautiful thing ever is. Rapunzel says that it's flowers and she recently saw the most wonderful painting of flowers called [something to do with Spring] by [some guy that did a lot of paintings.] And now she's back on a topic she knows, talking to just one new person who seems interested, and her posture eases visibly. Eugene says some crap about beauty being in the eye of the beholder, and the director readily agrees with him in a way that makes Eugene suspect that the director is trying to hit on him.

Huh. Well… he can work with that.

They move on to some other philosophical disagreements, where Eugene understands absolutely nothing and nods a lot and says things like, "I'd never thought of it that way," and "Surely you must be joking," and "I couldn't agree more, my friend." It doesn't really matter, because as long as he stands a certain way, with his head cocked to the side and his arms crossed casually over his chest, the director doesn't seem to hear a word he says anyway. Every now and then he'll grin and toss his hair just for good measure. Goldie probably thinks he has a tick, but she's too involved in explaining some odd minor concept from a philosopher who's been dead for hundreds of years to call him on it.

He's starting to believe that his plan is perfect. He is a genius. And everyone should be in awe of how cunningly he has saved his princess. One more stop and they'd be home and she will admit that he saved the day and she needs him and ought to listen to him more, and then he'll pull her close and-

"I think they're ready to move on," she says.

"Huh? Oh. Right."

It's going well, but with the realization that their next stop is the orphanage, his fantastical Flynn-ness starts to fall away in chunks and a knot forms in his stomach that's so tight it's hard to breathe. He's never been Flynn there. He's only been Eugene, who was scared and needy and wished for nothing more than a family. He used to hide and he used to cry, and he has no desire to return, no desire to have his Flynn persona who could handle such things ripped away, no desire to crumple in front of Rapunzel and maybe bring her down too with his weakness.

He doesn't want her to see where he grew up, because it's sad and she doesn't need any more of that in her life.

"Eugene?" she whispers, pushing back against his chest to bring her voice closer to his ear. "Are you alright?"

"I'm great. Why?"

She searches his face for a moment and he realizes that at this point she may be able to sense his moods as well as he can sense hers. She shakes her head and turns forward again, which is probably a good call. But then he realizes that she's not ignoring him completely, because she's started to soak up his stress and the heartbeat in the hand against his starts to pick up.

His anxiety makes her anxious and her anxiety makes him more anxious, so by the time they get there they're a big ball of frayed nerves. Great!

He reaches up to pull at his collar, but then thinks better of it and drops his hand again with a growl.

The headmaster is standing in the doorway to greet them when they arrive. Actually, greet seems like far too friendly a term. The man is probably there to berate them, hit them with a ruler, then act emotionally distant for the next few days.

A small hand slips into his, and he looks down to see Rapunzel following his gaze. She has that look, that hardness to her eyes and that set of her jaw that means she's terrified, but she's going to be brave. Usually in these situations her version of bravery comes pretty close to stupidity, and so the sight of her fills him with equal parts encouragement and dread.

"You once told me to go big or go home," she says, just soft enough that her words are lost under the bustle of all the guards.

"We could go home." He throws in an eyebrow wiggle just for good measure, just to show the somewhere deep inside Flynn's still kicking.

She looks up at him and puts on a very fake looking smile. It doesn't suit her. "Don't be scared."

She rubs her thumb over his knuckles and pulls him forward, toward the drab little building growing darker shades of grey in the retreating light.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

There are several appropriate ways to greet royalty. There are also several ways to greet other humans without looking like a dick. "We were expecting you two hours ago," is not one of them.

Rapunzel makes an attempt at a laugh that comes out more like a startled croak, hoping at any moment this man with sunken eyes and sunken cheeks and a sunken heart with beam at her and shout "just kidding," before pulling her into a welcoming hug.

Eugene doesn't hold on to any such hope. His whole life he has only heard two kind words from the headmaster. One of them was sarcastic. The other was directed at someone else.

Usually Eugene would respond to behavior like this by rolling his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and ignoring the rudeness until it came to an end. But with Goldie around – and shit, is she shaking under this asshole's glare? – he can't just let that pass.

"Well," he says, "You know how time flies when you're doing very important things."

The headmaster ignores him and continues to address Rapunzel. "I didn't realize that we were so low on your list of priorities."

"Oh no! It's not like that at all. We were just-"

"Excuse me." The headmaster pushes past her to approach the carriage and berate the accountants. Rapunzel stares after him, looking utterly confused, a sight that makes the knot of dread in Eugene's stomach solidify into a hardened mass and start oozing some chemical that makes him feel queasy.

"I don't think he recognized you," she murmurs.

Eugene snorts.

A few moments later the headmaster returns leading a procession of two accountants and three guards carrying a chest full of gold. He pauses to give Rapunzel a look that is not quite a glare, but close enough to make her mouth go dry.

"Excuse us," he says, his tone far from polite, and Rapunzel scurries back a few feet to allow them to pass into the building.

"Uh… excuse me," she says, bringing the stomping procession to a halt. "We were supposed to have a… uh… a tour?"

Poor thing, she's trying so hard. It's a miracle she's even still on her feet considering how pale she is.

"As I said in my budget request, we are short on staff. If you can't live without a tour, then I suggest you have Fitzherbert give you one. Now if you'll excuse me, I have _very important things_ to attend to."

The guards give her pained looks out of the corners of their eyes as they pass, and Rapunzel's eyebrows twitch together as she watches their retreating forms.

Eugene slides next to her, slipping a comforting hand on the small of her back as they stare into the building.

"He is not a very nice man," she says.

"Nope. But he recognized me." He doesn't really know where the joke comes from. His brain isn't functioning enough to process anything more than, "I'm back at the orphanage. Oh no. The orphanage. Oh no." It's almost as though some disembodied spirit is controlling his actions now.

For a moment they both stare up at the threshold, where an arch of flowers are carved into the stone to droop ominously over them.

Eugene clears his throat, then holds out his elbow for her. "Shall we?"

She nods, threading her arm through his so they can lock elbows and hold hands as they step inside, into a narrow hallway that leads all the way to the back of the building. The lack of windows makes it dreary and the low, ancient ceiling gives the impression that something is dripping. The sound of overlapping screams from a dozen children echoes toward them like a physical force in the confined space.

Eugene squeezes her hand as another surge of anxiety washes over him. Being back here is a bit like nostalgia if nostalgia made you want to hide.

"So," he says, "Do you want to start the tour with screeching kids, or end the tour with screeching kids?"

"End the tour," she murmurs.

He nods, sets his jaw in a determined grimace, and leads her to the rickety staircase. On instinct he steps over the fourth step, but Rapunzel doesn't and it cracks with a sound like a small explosion, causing her to yelp and grab for him. She scrambled up his back as best she can, which isn't very well considering her fancy dress, and after a moment of her heavy breathing against his neck and her eyes squeezed close in anticipation of some deadly blow, he turns his head to look at her.

"Bum step," he says.

"What?" There's a whimper to her voice, as if she's too frazzled, too far gone to even know what he's saying.

"It always makes that noise."

She looks down at it like it's a snake reared back to strike at her, and she lets out a pitiful little laugh, forgetting that she ought to climb down. Eugene sighs, tucks one arm under her leg and carries her up the rest of the stairs before setting her down on the landing. She immediately grabs his hand again.

"Ok. Well. Over here is the girls' room." He gestures at the room on the left, a long, wide room, housing a row of bunk beds and broad windows that let in the last rays of sunlight as it settles over the city, illuminating the scattered clothes and books so that they glow with accentuated color.

"Can we go inside?" she asks.

"No. That's the girls' room."

She blinks up at him and it takes him a second to realize what a stupid thing that is to say. It's just been beaten into him so many times that now, back in this sad little building, it's like a reflex.

He scratches his head in confusion, then wordlessly guides her across the hallway. Best not to think about it. "You can look around in here. It's the boys' room."

The boys' room is remarkably similar to the girls', except the view is not as nice and the mess is a bit more sprawled. He pulls her over to a bed near the middle of the room. "This one's mine."

"Really?" Her eyes light up, and she quickly bends to inspect it, running a hand over the thick, blue blanket.

"Yeah, look." He sits down on the bed and leans back to show her the underside of the top bunk where his name is carved into one of the slats. He had trouble with the curves in the U and the G and they look ragged and feral, as if the boy who carved them was desperately trying to own something, to put his mark on anything.

Even as he points at it his short lived burst of pride fades and his face melts into a frown.

His name has been inelegantly scratched out, and above it someone has written "TIM."

Rapunzel scoots next to him to look, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Who's Tim?"

"I don't know... But I hate the little shit."

"Eugene," she chides, "He's just a child. And you're not using your bed anymore anyway."

"That's beside the point," he says. It's also besides the point that some twenty-odd years ago he scratched out the name "Terrence."

"You have a better bed now anyway. This one's kind of small."

This is a very good point, and he pushes himself off the bed to lead her back into the hallway where he points out the headmaster's room/office and the caretaker's room/storage cupboard. When they traipse back downstairs, he stops her to point out the spot that held the record for the highest place someone had jumped over the banister to land on the first floor without serious injury. Then he stops her again to point out the trick step. Then he says, "Look at these hardwood floors, Blondie. They're original." And then he realizes that he's stalling.

She realizes it around the same time and leads the conversation along as she guides him down the hallway towards the noises of a small riot in the dining room. "What's on this floor?"

"There's the kitchen, and the laundry, and the dining room."

"So we're going to have to talk to people now, aren't we?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "I could give you a tour of the laundry room."

"Is it interesting?"

"No."

She thinks on it for a second. "I do like laundry, so let's go look at that."

He pauses to look down at her, her face still bloodless, her lower lip pulled into her mouth. "I love you. Have I told you that?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Never mind then."

She smiles slightly, then takes his hand as they head down the corridor. Maybe they could hide in the laundry room until it's time to leave. And by "hiding" he means "release tension through necking."

But of course it's the day from hell so this doesn't even come close to happening.

As they pass the dining hall, someone shouts his name, causing him to freeze before he turns around to see the caretaker jogging up to him between tables crowded with messy haired children. The caretaker's bulk makes his jog more like a waddle and the fine layer of sweat that Eugene remembers from childhood is still smeared across the man's forehead. He's supposed to be the caretaker for the building, not the children, and his job description entails fixing broken windows and ordering supplies and shoveling snow. However, he finds very little time to do his actual job since he is always too busy trying to maintain peace among the children's various factions and between the cook and the headmaster or the headmaster and the children or the headmaster and the neighbors. Child care is not his thing, but it's what he's done every day for the last thirty-five years, and this fact makes him look more and more like a hot mess every day.

"Eugene," he huffs, coming to a stop in the doorway and leaning against it as casually as he can while he tries not to look as though he's catching his breath. "Eugene. I heard you were coming."

"Yeah. How 'bout that?"

"You have to help me."

No, "Oh, Eugene! It's so good to see you again." No, "Who's your friend? Oh hello, your highness. What a pleasure. Eugene's so lucky!" No. None of that.

Eugene rolls his eyes, because talking to the caretaker is like stepping backwards in time to when he was one of the oldest kids who hadn't run away yet, to when he was always being called upon to look after the little guys, to when his response to anything the caretaker said was an eye roll and begrudging agreement.

"What do you need?"

The caretaker sags in relief. "Just watch them. Ten minutes. Dinner's a disaster and Harold's busy with the accounts and the furnace is acting up again. Ten minutes, Eugene. That's all I need."

Eugene is well aware that ten minutes is usually more like a half hour and "watch them" is more like "make sure they don't light anything on fire or stab each other or bite the babies and make sure they all get a bath." But for some reason Eugene finds himself nodding as the caretaker grins and rushes off to the basement to work on the furnace (with which Eugene is also painfully familiar.)

"What do we do?" Rapunzel whispers. Briefly she wonders if anyone here knows who she is, but then she decides that that's a vain thought and drops it.

"Well," he says, taking a deep breath and giving into the tragic fact that his plan to be Flynn all day has utterly failed. "I'm going to watch them, and you're going to find out who _Tim_ is." And with that he marches into the room.

The kids aren't silent as they enter, but all eyes are focused on them, each child confiding a different theory to a neighbor. The strangers are a noble couple here to adopt, so everyone needs to look cute and well behaved. They're from the board of directors (a mythical group of omnipotent men whose word is law but are never seen) and they are here to shut down the orphanage. They have nice shoes, which means they must have items worth stealing on their person.

No one guesses that Eugene used to be one of them and that none of their tricks of looking cute or asking for a hug or throwing a fit will work. He invented those.

He grabs a free chair, drags it to the head of the room, spins it around, and flops into it, resting his elbows against the chair back.

He stares at them for a minute, then says, "Hey. How ya' doing?"

The kids exchange confused looks with one another. He doesn't blame them. Strangers are rare and strangers that will speak to them are unheard of.

"Who wants to hear a story?" Stories always used to work to settle the kids down and keep them entertained for lengthy periods.

The kids stare at him, a few turning their attention to Rapunzel as she slips into a seat at one of the tables, tucking her skirt in around her legs and looking excited for another story.

"What kind of story?" asks a boy with an upturned nose.

"A good one. One about heroic adventures and daring escapes. And this one is especially good because it's true." Or at least it's true before he heavily edits it.

The kids look skeptical, but at least he has their attention.

"Is there a horse in the story?" asks a girl in pigtails.

"Yes. A big, nasty monster of a horse-" The girl gasps. "-Who turns out to be very nice in the end."

"Is there a dragon?" asks a boy missing a front tooth.

"Yeah." There is now. "One that breathes fire and kidnaps princesses." More girls gasp, which Eugene appreciates.

One of the boys crosses his arms over his chest. "You said this was a true story. Dragons aren't real." This Eugene does not appreciate. Especially when a few of the younger children look as though all their dreams have been shattered by this bit of information.

"Dragons are very real," he says. "They just don't like company and most people who see them get eaten so there aren't any witnesses. But I've seen one and I assure you they're real."

There's nothing more fun than lying to children.

"How come you didn't get eaten then?"

"Because I'm amazing. Now are you going to shut up so I can tell my story or are you gonna keep asking questions?"

The kids shut up and lean forward in their seats ever so slightly, wanting to hear about the real, live dragon, but not wanting their friends to know that they want to hear. Eugene begins to spin his tale, pulling in one kid at a time, building up the drama, laying on the action, until, at last-

"Your horse sounds like a dog."

"Yeah. Horses don't do that."

"Have you even seen a horse before, Mister?"

The story collapses around him as even some of the younger kids are thrown out of the magic and wrinkle their foreheads in confusion over whether anything they just heard was true. It takes him a while to patch the story back together, making an effort to go into less detail about Max (something he thought would earn him a laugh or two.) He gathers the tale back together, weaving it around the children like the backdrop of a play, building up suspense for the moment he would finally introduce the dragon – red and copper, with scales that clink and scratch along the cavern floor, encrusted with dried blood and horded jewels and exotic fabrics from across the globe, smelling like expensive incense and rotten meat and thick smoke, its eyes gleaming like the gates of hell as they settle on the hero and hold him hypnotized-

"I thought dragons were blind."

Eugene blinks at the interruption. "You what?"

"Dragons are blind. Everyone knows that. That's why they live in caves."

He's never heard this piece of folklore before, but several kids around the room nod as if this is common knowledge and Eugene is an idiot.

All these interruptions are a severe blow to his pride. Didn't he used to be great at this? And now one of the kids has taken off his shoes and is trying to put his stinky feet in his friend's face. Another kid is staring off into space with his chin propped in his hand. The far table of kids are flicking pebbles from their pockets at one another.

He's losing his audience and his grove and continues with the story a bit too hastily, throwing off the poetry and letting anxiety creep into his voice. He wraps everything up a bit too quickly saying, "and they lived happily ever after." He hates ending stories that way. It seems too unrealistic, even for a story about a dragon.

There's a moment of silence when he finishes as the kids let his words percolate in their little minds. They exchange looks with one another before one boy voices what they are collectively thinking.

"No way."

Now he's just affronted. "What do you mean, 'no way?'"

"There's no way the princess would run off with the hero. She sounds nice and he sounds like a tool."

Eugene doesn't know what to say to this.

"I liked him," one of the older girls argues. Eugene mentally cheers. "But he doesn't sound like a real person, more like… like someone you would make up. You know?" He stops cheering.

"I liked the dragon," says a boy sporting a severe cow lick. "Can you tell the story again, but have the princess stay with the dragon? I think she'd like that. And the dragon can eat the hero and his horse."

"Not the horse!" screams one of the little girls, lifting her balled fists to cover her mouth.

The kids explode into arguments over appropriate changes that can and should be made to the story – arguments that quickly dissolve into insults against Eugene's story telling capabilities and each other's intelligence and parentage. Then one of the little ones starts crying and two boys collapse to the floor trying to give each other nuggies.

_Ok_, Eugene decides. _These kids are pricks_.


	30. Chapter 30

**AN**: PSA: Practice safe sex, and don't send me anymore death threats. Those are laughed at and deleted. 5 or 6 more chapters after this one, so stick around for the big conclusion. Or don't. It's up to you.

**Chapter 30**

Eugene doesn't even bother making an excuse for himself. He drops Rapunzel off in the arms of her mother in the front entrance hall, then takes Maximus back to the stable to get him settled in, then he heads straight to his room to tear off his jacket, pull off his boots, and collapse face first onto his sofa. His body limp, one arm hanging off to trail on the floor, he groans for a minute, just because it makes him feel better. After the groaning, he shifts and kicks the dozen or so throw pillows off the sofa so he can have more room. Then he groans again, the elaborate, cream colored cushions muffling the sound of his pity party. He's going to miss dinner, but he really doesn't care.

He used to have two skills.

The first was stealing things. He was the greatest thief the kingdom – no, the world had ever seen. No job was too big or too dangerous. Not guards were fast enough or smart enough to catch him. He was a legend set to retire.

But now stealing was off limits. For the most part. He still took things every now and then, but they were little and he was sure no one noticed. They were never anything worth bragging about, and he didn't have anyone to brag to anyway.

The second thing he was good at was telling stories. It was a silly skill, but it was one he prided himself on anyway. Stories were great. He could entertain people long enough to cause a distraction. He could win people over with tales of his daring-do, great escapes, grand romances, or sob stories. He could wrap people around his finger until they would hand over their valuables, or tell him little details around which he could form a plan, or buy him another beer. He could get people to trust him. He could get people to do things.

But now there were very few people who trusted him, and the one person whose decisions mattered to him at all wouldn't go along with his plans. Hell, he couldn't even keep a group of children interested in a fairy tale.

What happened to him? Who is he? He wasn't Flynn because Blondie had crushed Flynn in her delicate, little hands. All that was left of him was a shadow that popped up every now and then to shoot off a sassy comment. He wasn't really old Eugene either. These past few months he's been blaming his softening on The Return of Eugene. But now that he's thinking (moping) about it, that's not exactly true. He's braver now, maybe from Flynn's influence. He's seen things and done things that Eugene couldn't have imagined even in his wildest stories. Yeah, he was still scared, but the desire to run when things got hot was fading. Yeah, he was protective, but now it wasn't just protective for protective's sake. Now he actually cared, when Eugene never had anything to care about except becoming someone else.

Who is he? And why did he have to live through such a sucky day?

He lays there for a very long time, telling himself that he's trying to find an answer to these questions, but in reality he's just repeating all the things he's upset about at the moment. It's not clear how long he stays there, but when a distraction finally arrives, the embroidered pattern from the cushion is imprinted on his forehead and cheek, his arm has fallen asleep, and his bare feet are getting cold.

The door to his room opens and someone comes in, but he refuses to sit up or even lift his head.

He knows it's Blondie. No one else would come in like this and set something that smells really good down on the table with a metallic clunk. No one else would take a seat next to him on the floor. No one else would brush the hair from his face ever so gently, only to have it fall right back into place.

He groans.

"Are you awake?" she whispers.

"No."

Her hand runs up his arm to rub his shoulder. He stiffens at first, then eases against her touch.

"You missed dinner, so I brought you something to eat. It's Cornish hen and mixed vegetables, and I even got you some apple fritters. You like those, right?"

She lowers her face close to his, watching him for any sort of reaction, hoping to tempt him with food and her cooing voice.

He stays pressed into his cushion. "Thanks, Goldie."

Her hand slips up to the back of his neck to rub gentle circles against the kinks there. It sends a trickle of pleasure through his shoulders, through his spine, contracting his lungs with anticipation, warming his belly with desire. He holds himself very still as he tries to control his body's responses to her touch. The renewed tension in his neck doesn't help her massage.

She's silent for a long moment, and when she finally speaks her voice is fragile and soft, like a cobweb, like she no longer has any tears to shed.

"I was wrong today, wasn't I?"

That gets him to turn his head to look at her, her deep eyes focused on the needlework along his shirt sleeve and holding all the world's sadness.

"It's alright to be wrong sometimes."

"But I hurt you. I was wrong and wouldn't listen and you tried to help and it hurt you." She traces the needlework with a finger, sketching over his wrist in a way that he would have never guessed would feel so nice.

"You were scared and you overreacted," he says. "That's understandable."

"But..." She trails off, letting both her hands fall away from him to clasp together in her lap.

He props himself up enough to get a better look at her. "But what?"

"You didn't over react."

He scoffs. "I've seen people cough up blood before, Blondie. It's old hat for me. And besides, I'm bold and courageous." He shoots her a grin that he doesn't really feel and it falls flat as she lifts her eyes to meet his.

"I meant at the orphanage."

His grin fades and he blinks once before turning his attention back to the sofa cushion.

"Eugene?" she asks, scooting ever so slightly closer to him. "…Thank you. For looking after me. I know that I can be difficult sometimes, and I know that it must be hard to look after me when you have to think back on the way things were after your whole life gets turned upside down-"

"Hey, no-"

"Yes!"

She glares at him for a moment, and he stares at her in mild surprise until her eyes widen and she claps a hand over her mouth.

"I'm sorry," she squeaks. "I'm doing it again! I'm not listening to you."

He stares at her for a few more heartbeats then starts to laugh. She's just so cute. She's so cute that it makes him think that none of the crap that happened today matters anyway.

"It's not funny."

"Yes, it is."

She huffs and he grins, sweeping over to plant a kiss on her freckled cheek before he faceplants back into the sofa with a sigh.

"Eugene?"

"Mmmpf."

"I've been thinking."

"Again?"

"You know how my etiquette instructor said that you'd try to steal my virtue?"

He groans. Loudly.

She hesitates a moment then slips up to sit next to him, causing the cushions to shift against her weight.

"I was thinking. She also said I could give it away. Then it's not really stealing."

He holds very still, because she can't be saying what he thinks she's saying, and even if she is it's a bad idea.

"What do you think?"

He turns his head to the side to answer her, but keeps his eyes firmly closed. "You give up on your weird bribery plan already?"

"Well..."

"Uh huh."

"You were really nice to me today."

"Oh, Goldie, don't put out for everyone that's nice to you."

"I don't know what that means. And you're not everyone. You're sweet and…" she blushes. "… and I like your arms."

He cracks one eye open, unsure if he should be weirded out or amused. "You like _my arms_?"

Her blush deepens and she averts her eyes off to something terribly uninteresting over the back of the couch. She shrugs. "They're nice."

"My arms? Not my face or my ass?"

Her eyes dart down to his butt then back up to meet his gaze. "Those are nice too, I guess. I just…"

He sits up slowly, planting one hand beside her on the couch so he can pin her in place without actually touching her, so he can fluster her, so he can keep this newly found attribute as visible as possible, so he can lean forward and smirk. "Yes?"

"Never mind. It's stupid."

He drops his voice to something warm and sultry. "I don't mind." He shifts his shoulders to emphasize the muscles in his bicep.

She is transfixed, staring at the point where his forearm would press against her hip if he would only move ever so slightly. "It's just… sometimes I think about them… and I feel…" She searches for the right word. "Weak?"

He grins, and he leans in to presses his lips to hers. Once. It's brief and chaste. Twice. Her eyes slide closed. Her lips part.

And she throws herself at him, her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing her small frame against his chest, warming him with her breath as she gasps between kisses. He fills his arms with her - her waist and her back and her shoulders and all her love and pain and need. He squeezes her and she moans, grabbing at the muscles in his arm so ravenously that it hurts. It hurts like the burn in his lungs as he holds himself back while she rakes her fingers through his hair and her tongue presses into his mouth.

She shifts closer, further into his lap, and he drags his hands up and down her sides trying to feel the warmth of her skin, the beat of her heart, the give of her flesh through her corset. He squeezes her between his fingers in an attempt to hold more of her, to be closer, and she pulls at his arm to urge him on, nearly begging for him to touch her.

Her hunger's like a drug, siphoning away his reservations as she sucks on his lower lip. She drains away his rational thought as all the heat in his body runs to his cock when she pulls his shirt from his pants with a quick burst of friction and a groan. He works the thousand hooks down the back of her dress with one hand as he holds her breast and covers her neck in greedy kisses. She pants, head tilted back, eyes closed dreamily, fingers digging into the bare skin of his shoulders.

He peels her dress down to crumple at her waist and he sets to work on the ribbons of her corset. Through the hot fog of her arched back and needy little noises, he notes that they're a pale, baby blue satin, but he immediately forgets it in favor of holding her tighter. He strips the ribbons away cross by cross, in an effort to control his urge to rip the damn thing apart and leave it in tatters on the floor. His carefulness is not appreciated and she whimpers against his ear to get him to work faster.

"Almost got it… There."

The last few ties fall away and the corset opens like a clamshell from which she's stepped free, one that's growing more lifeless by the second without the benefit of her heart racing within it or the magic of her touch gracing its features. She rears back and tosses it aside before grabbing the thin, cotton sleeves of her shift and shrugging her arms loose with a frantic wiggle. The shift joins her dress at her waist and before he can get a good look or yelp out a startled, happy comment she's wrapped herself around him again, her warm, bare flesh against his, her greedy lips on his own.

She's so small. So delicate. Her breasts compress against his chest. Her stomach flickers against his abs, like the hesitant brush of a hand, like the flutter of her eyelashes. He can feel the thin cage of her ribs in his hands, the slender planes of her shoulder blades, every gentle prominence of her spine, all covered in skin so soft he can't help but revel in the fact that he's the first to touch it. She's his. All his. And she wants him. Even though she could have anyone she wants _him_.

He pulls her close and flips them, pressing her back to the sofa, felling her body held tight beneath him, whacking her head against the arm rest-

"Eep!"

"Shit, are you alright?" He's breathless as he runs a hand to her cheek, then buries his fingers in her hair to caress the back of her head.

She winces briefly, but then her eyes roll back and she turns to kiss his wrist. "Yes," she gasps, pulling his head down for another kiss. He tangles his hand in her hair, because it's just so grabable now, so easy to ruffle up and tousle. He scoots them both down away from the armrest to protect her from any more of his flailing stupidity.

He forgets about it quickly enough, because now he can _touch_ her. He can let his hands roam over the tension of her stomach, the swell of her breasts. She shivers against his fingers and arches into his touch before dragging her hands over his chest, pausing at his nipple, the hollow of his solar plexus, his navel, slipping lower and lower, driving him wild. Her fingers slip teasingly beneath the waist of his pants, her hand pressed flat against the valley between his abs and his hipbone, her thumb scrawling desperate circles against his skin.

He buries his face against her neck and swears, rocking into her hand. She's so close he can barely stand it and he grabs on to her waist for support, for something to ground him, but the way she squirms under his hand throws him off balance again.

He moans pathetically when she draws her hand away, until he feels her shift beneath him, both hands at her waist in an attempt to free herself of her skirts, her hips lifting in a way that's far too appealing. He pulls at her dress too, finding the ties on her petticoats and yanking at them until they come loose, then shoving her dress and her underskirts and her shift down her thighs until he can't push them any farther away and she kicks them off in a massive flurry of noisy fabric.

He pulls a leg around his waist and runs a hand over her smooth thigh, up to her ass to squeeze and pull her flush against him. He can feel the heat of her, or maybe he's imagining it, and she can feel how hard he is, how much he wants her. They moan together at the feeling and hold each other tight, not wanting to let go even for a moment. He's never seen her this naked before. He's seen parts of her naked and it's not like she wears that many clothes to begin with, but still there's something awe inspiring about it.

Their eyes lock.

He swears to God he's never seen anything so beautiful.

Then he moves, squeezing his eyes closed and biting his lip as she gasps. He knows that dry humping isn't the most sophisticated thing in the world, but honestly, what choice does he have?

Her skin starts to shine with a fine coat of sweat and she presses her face against his as if trying to hide from the pleasure building inside her.

"Pants. Off. Now."

"That's not such a-"

"Eugene." She whimpers his name in a way he just can't ignore. Then she bites his earlobe and the next thing he knows, he's grabbing at his belt. His pants are starting to rub him raw anyway.

"I need to get a-"

"If you get up," she pants, "I'm going to strangle you."

Well, no arguing with that, he agrees, kicking off his pants. It doesn't really matter anyway because he's going to marry her and she's going to have his annoying, handsome babies.

Wait.

What?

She pulls him down for a kiss that makes him completely forget what he was just thinking about. He hooks his fingers in her underwear and peels them away, kissing down to her navel, where he's able to reach her foot and pop off the last of her clothes and throw them across the room, hopefully they land somewhere where she won't be able to find them.

He pushes himself up, to look her in the eye, and suddenly he understands the fear of the moment before your dream becomes reality. He cups her cheek and kisses her, softly, distractingly, and she kisses back so tenderly that he feels more complete than he has in his entire life.

His hand trails from her hip to between her legs, and he strokes her once, eliciting a shiver. He presses the tip of his cock against her, and she tenses. Then he guides himself in, as slowly as he can.

It's bliss.

Absolute bliss.

She's warm and wet and she clenches around him so tightly it's painful. Painful in all the right fucking ways. He breaks off the kiss to moan and press his forehead against hers, trying to remember how to breathe.

Then she whimpers.

He opens his eyes to see her face crumpled in pain, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes.

"Ra-Rapunzel," he chokes because he can't breathe and he can't swallow and – oh God – he's hurting her. "You alright?"

"Oww," she cries, a single, painful note that rips into his chest.

"Rapun-"

"Oww, oww, oww, oww, oww." She pushes against his shoulders, shoving him away, and he pulls back immediately, sliding out of her in a way that he will _never_ admit feels good. He's left hard and needy, damp and sticky, but he really needs to not think about that.

"Rapunzel." He presses a shaking hand against her face, brushing back her dampened hair and brushing away her tears. She pulls her arms away from him and shifts to wrap them both around her abdomen.

She lies there trembling and Eugene has no idea what to do.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Watching Rapunzel fall into an uneasy sleep is one of the worst half hours of Eugene's life.

His mind goes into panic mode as he holds his body as still as possible, trying not to disturb her, trying not to touch her even though it's really hard not to – the sofa they're both on is really small, and the desire to reach out and comfort her just grows stronger and stronger.

Then there's the fact that his racing thoughts make him want to scream. They move so fast, slipping from one heinous thing he's done wrong to the next so fast that it's hard to focus on anything except the overarching tone of panic.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, although her eyebrows are still furrowed together and a little frown is painted across her lips. He curses himself, and very gently lifts her up to tuck her in bed, where she curls up in a ball and snuggles into his comforter.

He sighs as he watches her, then decides to make himself useful. Maybe if he's moving the thoughts will stop. Probably not, but it won't hurt to try.

He finds himself a pair of pajama pants and wonders into the washroom to splash water on his face and clean himself up a bit. It doesn't help him feel any less revolting and he can feel the beginnings of a headache form behind his eyes. He braces himself against the stone basin and looks at his reflection. He has the sudden urge to punch the image staring back at him, to feel the physical pain in his knuckles as he shatters the glass. He just wants to _break _ something.

But he's broken something already tonight, hasn't he?

Shit. His moping is disgusting.

Like the rest of him.

…Ugggg…

He sets about gathering up Rapunzel's clothes, which are thrown about so happily that it's almost hard to look at them. He tries to fold them up neatly, but it's hard. He doesn't know much about folding clothes, especially great big piles of satin. After a few attempts it occurs to him that maybe they're not supposed to be folded.

He even tracks down her underwear, which he had intended to hide from her just to see that cute, annoyed purse to her lips and just so he could think about her walking out of his room without them while he was the only one who knew.

Also because he's a pervert.

A cradle robbing pervert.

Gaah!

He stores them all away in his closet, because at some point in the evening someone's going to notice that she's missing and a hundred guards are going to descend upon his bedroom. It wouldn't do in that situation to have all her discarded clothes on display. He doesn't think much about the larger evidence that there's a naked, deflowered princess snuggled up in his bed.

He stares at his stained sofa for a minute, one hand on his chin, the other propped against his hip as he contemplates what to do with it. He decides that flipping the cushions over is a good idea. There! No one will ever know.

Then he throws open the window above the window seat to air out the room. He wants to get rid of the smell that's been muddling up his mind and making it so hard to think clearly. (It's totally the smell's fault. Not something deeper.) The winter air will help with the thinking too. He grabs a robe for her out of his closet and sets it gently on the bed next to her, just in case she gets cold. Then he flops down into the window seat and stares off at the forest.

He imagines that he can see her tower in the dark. Then he thinks some very depressing things about her tower that are too pitiful to be repeated.

He briefly thinks about leaving. Not about running away (which is a such a step for him that he doesn't even acknowledge it) but instead he considers stalking around the castle hallways, just so that he can move. Pacing around his bedroom feels like it won't get him away from his problems. He stops himself because he wants to be there when she wakes up. He can't hurt her and then ditch her, even if he's just ditching her to walk to the kitchens.

This is another step for him and again he doesn't even realize that he's made the transition: he wants to be there for her in the morning. He doesn't know what he's going to say, or even if she'll want to see him because she probably hates him now. And she's never stayed in his room until morning before and she'll probably get woken up by the guards bursting in or by the page that shows up to shuffle Eugene off to his lessons. But he doesn't care.

His self preservation has completely disappeared.

He stares out the window and watches as the lights of the city slowly extinguish one by one, and he wonders what he's going to do if she hates him.

A gust of wind brushes through the room, and he shivers but doesn't move. Behind him he hears her shuffle, the rustling of fabric, the patting of her feet. When he turns to look at her, she's standing next to him shrouded in hesitancy and a robe that's far too big for her. Her fingers are barely visible inside the sleeves and the belt has been wrapped around her waist twice. Even though he's never bothered with the robe before, something possessive grips at him seeing her wear his clothes.

He doesn't know why, but he holds out a hand, and she easily slips into his embrace, letting his arm wrap around her waist, gliding down to sit next to him on the edge of the window seat. There's not enough room for both of them, even though he tries to scoot over as much as possible, so she easily slides into his lap to wrap her arms around him and snuggle her head under his chin.

He sighs and nuzzles his cheek against her hair. He knows that even when Gothel was mean to her, she would always run into the old woman's arms for comfort. So just because she's hugging him doesn't mean anything.

"You're cold," she says, pressing her hands more firmly against his back to try and warm him.

"It's winter," he says. He means it to be a wry comment, but it doesn't work out that way.

"You don't like being cold. Why are you sitting here?"

"Trying to clear my head." Also trying to make the room smell less like sex and leftover mixed vegetables.

She seems to understand because she nods and presses deeper into his chest.

"You need a blanket?" he asks.

"No."

He pulls her closer and swallows. He wants to ask, but he doesn't know how, so he wobbles back and forth a moment between staying quiet and spitting out something stupid.

"Are you- Does it still hurt?" He cringes, expecting her to shove him or start crying.

She shifts a bit and answers in a small voice. "Not much."

"… Good."

"… I'm sorry."

"Rapunzel, you have nothing to be sorry about. It's my fault."

"Why is it _your_ fault?"

"Because I hurt you. You're an itty-bitty virgin and I'm a terrible, lecherous man."

She huffs. "I'm not made out of china. You don't have to coddle me all the time."

He sighs. "We're not starting this again. I care about you and I want you to be alright. That doesn't mean I'm going to lock you away in a tower forever. I'm not going to change, so you might as well get used to it." Or kick him out, which she might very well do.

It takes her a moment to answer and when she does it's a grumble. "You still don't have to be so overprotective."

"God! You are so stubborn!"

"And you're not listening because you'd rather be mopey."

"I'm not moping."

"You're sitting in the cold and staring into space."

"Still doesn't mean I'm moping."

"Frowning gives you wrinkles, Eugene, and no one likes a sulking hulk."

"Where did you hear that?"

"…Nowhere." Whenever Rapunzel says "nowhere" or "nobody" like that it almost always means "Gothel."

"I'm not moping, I'm _thinking_," he says.

"About what?"

"About how I should have stopped. And I should have been… I don't know, gentler or something. I should have warned you."

"That sounds like moping to me," she mumbles.

He rolls his eyes.

"Wait," she says, her back stiffening. "You could have warned me? Did you know it would hurt?"

"…uh…"

She pulls back to frown at him. "Does it always hurt? Everyone says it's supposed to feel good!"

"I- Well-"

"Did it feel good for you?"

"Oh hell."

"Eugene, tell me what's happening."

"Uh…"

"Eugene!"

"Ok!" He holds up a hand to pacify her (because that works.) "Ok… Sometimes it hurts the first time… for girls… I think."

"You think?"

"I don't know, I'm not a girl!"

"Well what about the other girls you've done this with?"

"Don't ask me questions like that!"

"Why not?"

"Because no matter how I answer you'll get mad."

Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. "No, I won't."

He groans and covers his face with his hand.

She thinks for a moment, finding another way to get information. "So this happens to other people?"

"Yes."

"So I didn't do something wrong?"

"No!"

"And you're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?"

She ducks her head a bit. "I don't know."

He sighs and leans forward to pull her into a hug. "Oh, Blondie."

They hold each other for a moment as Eugene considers that they really ought to work on their recurring communication problems.

Eventually she pulls back and sniffs. "It'll be better next time?"

"I guarantee it," he says, brushing a lock of rumpled hair from her face.

She gives him a skeptical look. "Really?"

"Sweetheart, to make up for today, I promise I will blow your mind."

She wrinkles her nose. "That doesn't sound pleasant."

"It is. You trust me, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, you shouldn't. That's a very bad idea."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Shut up, Eugene."

"Hmm."

She leans in to kiss his cheek and then snuggles back against his chest.

"So," he says, clearing his throat and letting his muscles tense up again, "are we… ok now?"

"Of course. Were we ever not ok?"

"I guess not."

"It's cold," she repeats.

"Ok, ok."

He leans forward and reaches out to shut the window, and that's the moment when several loud bangs pound against his door.

"Open up, Rider!"

"When are they going to stop calling me that?"

Rapunzel shrinks in on herself. "I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"

"Nope. But they really took their time finding you."

"What?"

"What if you'd actually gone missing or something?"

"Eugene…"

"Security around here's atrocious."

There's another series of bangs and more shouting from the other side of the door.

"What are we going to do?"

He pushes himself up, half lifting her with him. "You're going to go in the closet and get dressed and then head back to your room. And I'm going to explain to these guys what my name is."

She makes a move to protest, but he just kisses her forehead, gives her a nudge in the right direction, and heads off to his door.

Four stern looking guards frown at him as he rubs the side of his head sleepily and blinks at them a few times. Just four of them? That's insulting. "I'm sleeping," he says.

"We're looking for the princess," one growls.

"Do you need directions to her room?"

"No. Because she's not there."

He blinks once at them and frowns. "What do you mean she's not there? Where is she?"

"That's what we're here to find out."

"You _lost_ the princess? The one you _just found_?"

The guards' nervousness bubbles up to the surface, letting their bravado crackle away. Two exchange wary looks. One shuffles his feet. The other gulps.

Eugene rolls his eyes in disgust and advances on them. They take a frightened step backwards. "Well, what are you doing here? We need to go find her." He pulls the door closed behind him and starts marching down the hall. "She might just be in the library. Have you tried there yet? Tell me where you've already looked."

Shockingly enough, this works and the guards follow him down the hall towards the library. One starts to give him a report about where they've already looked and when she was seen last.

They march on determinedly, joined every now and then by different desperate patrols, to whom Eugene gives random orders that they should search this place or that place or report to someone or join forces with someone else. He mostly just sends them away from his room and does a lot of glaring. But the guards seem to respond to this and none of them question him.

It's bizarre and unnerving.

"Eugene!"

He comes up short and turns to see the queen hurry up to him. Worry is etched into her face and she looks as though someone has recently woke her up with the news that her daughter has been kidnapped again.

And now he feels like a jerk.

"Eugene, you're…" Her eyes narrow as she takes in his appearance. "You're not dressed appropriately."

"No, ma'am. Someone woke me up to help _find something they lost_." He shoots a glare at the nearest guard, who looks like he might shit himself. Eugene knows he's walking a tightrope now and the only way he'll pull through this is if he clings to the angry boyfriend act with everything he's got.

The queen seems to hold her breath for a moment as her eyes dart back and forth over his face. It's like she's reading something written on his forehead. He tries not to swallow too thickly. He tries not to let his face give him away. He tries really, really hard.

The queen's shoulders sink as she rolls her eyes. "Continue your search," she tells the guards. "I need a moment with Mr. Fitzherbert."

Gulp.

She crosses her arms and waits until the guards disappear before she speaks. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"…No." And what kind of question is that?

"I was worried."

"I'm worried too."

"Oh, you should be."

Yikes.

"Mr. Fitzherbert, do you listen to a single word anyone says to you?"

"…Yes?"

"No. You don't," she snaps.

He doesn't really know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, which seems like his best option.

She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Just tell me she's alright."

He takes a moment during which he decides that to continue lying would just annoy and confuse both of them. "She's fine."

"And you know where she is?"

"Yes."

She pulls her hand away and looks up at him. "What am I going to do with you?"

He shrugs.

She shakes her head in disgust.

"… Are you going to kill me? Because she kinda likes me and I don't think that would make her happy."

"Eugene, that's the worst defense I've ever heard."

"So… that's a 'yes' then?"

"That's a 'be quiet so you don't dig your hole any deeper.'"

"Gotcha."

"You can deal with the guards. I'm going back to bed."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turns and stalks back down the hallway. But then she stops and glances at him over her shoulder.

"You held out longer than I thought you would, you know."

And with that, she continues on her way.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

In the following weeks, lessons about tax distribution turn into lessons about high court procedures, which turn into a crash course on everything you needed to know about the neighboring country of Artesia before they visit, which turns into preparations for a literacy campaign for the kingdom's children. There turned out to be a guy who was pretty fun in the Artesian envoy, and Eugene secretly enjoyed the literacy campaign, but the high court procedures were painful.

Lessons on how to keep his mouth shut progress to lessons on how to politely disagree, to lessons on how to command others. Eugene immediately put these skills to work ordering the guards to change their ridiculous patrol routes into something more threatening. It's a mixed blessing but at least they're keeping Rapunzel safe. He begins to settle into his corrected posture, and one day he formally introduces himself to Phil, whose name turns out to be Bill. He congratulates himself for being obnoxiously close for so long.

The queen doesn't speak to him for a week. No one else seems to notice this, but Eugene does. He understands that it's her job to be ticked at him, and underneath this show of disapproval she still likes him. The fact that he's still breathing and that she obviously hasn't told anyone else is evidence enough for that. Then one night he cracks a joke and the queen can't help but laugh, and things are all back to the way they were.

Rapunzel comes up with new ways to propose about every three days or so. They're starting to get really silly. It's a game at this point. She gives him some ridiculous reason to marry her, he turns her down by saying something witty, and then they make out until one of them has to go back to their stupid lessons or meetings or tea party. One day she shows up to her etiquette lessons flushed and giggling and her instructor decides that it's well past time to discuss the rules of courtship, just to emphasize that Eugene is doing it wrong. Rapunzel doesn't pick up on the slights against his character, and instead sees these lessons as some sort of step by step guide that she needs to relay to him.

"You're not supposed to hold my hand," she says, straddling his lap while he kisses his way down her neck. "You're only supposed to hold out and elbow when we're walking."

"Uh huh."

"And you're allowed to kiss my hand."

"I can do hand kissing."

"And we're supposed to stay - mmm – an arm's length apart. And keep our hands folded behind our backs."

He drops his hands to the small of her back and continues to kiss her collar bone, drawing out a giggle.

The king invites him along on a hunting trip, which turns out to be not so bad. It mostly involves drinking and insulting other members of the hunting party, and Eugene excels at both of these. He doesn't even attempt to hunt anything. It's a waste of energy, and Maximus has orders from the princess to keep him safe, making it impossible to charge after anything even if he wanted to. The horse acts very smug about the fact that he can control Eugene's actions, but Eugene gets him back when everyone on the expedition starts referring to Max as _his horse_.

"Boo ya!" Eugene shouts, pointing a finger in Max's face. "Take that!"

Maximus bides his time.

The queen is a big ball of nerves about the whole expedition. Not that anyone can tell. She never likes it when her husband goes hunting, and she likes it even less now that he's dragging Eugene into the mix. The moment they return home, she checks the king over for injuries, hugs him fiercely, then turns to Eugene to inspect his split lip (which is the horse's fault - the horse, and maybe a bit of alcohol.) She glares at him, then hugs him, then informs him that he's an idiot.

The first morning the snow melts, Goldie wakes him up and drags him off into town to celebrate. She's finally gotten tired of the snow, just the way he said she would, but she phrases it differently. "Look! You can see the sidewalk again! Aren't seasons amazing?"

It's the first day of the year that the street vendors are able to come out of hiding from the weather. They come out cautiously, like bears emerging from hibernation, blinking in the light and looking at their old spots as if they've never seen them before. There's an air of excitement about them – a new year, a new chance to begin. They display the new wares they spent the winter creating with a mixture of pride and trepidation.

They smile at Blondie and test out their latest slogans and jingles as she approaches. Some of them are kind of catchy. Some of them will never be used again.

She darts from vendor to vendor, flowers to taffy to carvings of ducks and back to the taffy again. She gladly chats with anyone who will talk to her, which is just about everybody, and Eugene tries to stay out of it as much as he can, occasionally stepping forward to move her along.

She catches sight of another vendor and pulls away from him to skip forward and inspect everything, rocking forward on her toes, clasping her hands in front of her to try to keep from touching everything. It's a jewelry cart, which means the trinkets are shiny, and as odd as it is to say it Blondie likes shiny things. For the most part the merchandise is mediocre. Nothing is worth even half of what the gold hairpins she pulled out of her hair and stuffed into his pocket are worth. Eugene knows. He has a discerning eye.

Her eyes lock onto a particular piece, and her face perks with interest. Her hands strain not to reach out and touch it.

"Something catch your fancy, Miss?"

Her head snaps up at the sound of the vendor's voice, and she pulls herself together a bit before speaking. "Oh, no. It's just…" Her gaze locks onto the piece again before darting up to Eugene. "Look." She reaches out to point at it, bringing her finger as close to it as she can without touching it, as though disturbing it will make the magic disappear.

It's a ring made from braided strands of spun gold, one of which is formed from a narrower braid. It's simple, unadorned by jewels, and thin and muted enough to not be overbearing.

"It looks like my hair, doesn't it." She pulls herself from her awe enough to qualify the statement with a wry quirk to her lips. "I mean the way it used to be."

The vendor plucks it up and holds it out to her excitedly. "Go ahead. Try it on."

She hesitates a moment, then takes it from him carefully, as if she's afraid of breaking it. She slips it onto her index finger, where it catches on the second knuckle.

"Oh." Her face falls as the magic around the ring dissipates.

It's terrible to see her so sad over something so silly, and Eugene finds himself rolling his eyes and taking her hand to slip the ring over a few fingers.

"Oh!" Her eyes light right back up. "It fits there. See?" She holds up her hand for Eugene to get a look (even though he already knows), then turns for the vendor to see it too. "That's funny. I'd never noticed that before. Do your hands do that?" She snatches up Eugene's hand to inspect the width of his fingers with a critical eye.

Before she forgets all about his wares, the vendor cuts in, saying, "That looks lovely on you, Miss."

"Thank you! It's very pretty."

"Thank _you_."

She grins and looks back down at her hand. Eugene has to admit, it does look nice wound around her pale, lithe fingers. She sighs once, and looks at it as though she's trying to remember it forever. Then, with a bittersweet smile, she slips the ring off and hands it back to the vendor.

"Wha- You're not interested, Miss?" He looks like he might cry.

"Oh, I am," she insists. "It's perfect. It's just that… I don't know. It seems too nice to buy it when we're just wandering around like this."

"Nothing's too nice for you, Miss."

She beams at him. "You're sweet. But I think if we bought this it would be the highlight of the day and we would have to go home, but I heard someone say something about kite flying later and I want to do that."

The vendor seems completely boggled by this explanation. Eugene wonders if it's a good sign or not that he understood it completely.

Then she catches sight of a kid with a kite and flits away to go ask him a million questions. She calls a farewell over her shoulder and waves.

Eugene watches her for a minute to make sure she's not going to run off too far, before he turns back to the vendor and gives him a cynical look. "Alright. How much?"

The man smirks, just a bit too pleased with himself. "Fifteen hundred crowns."

Eugene snorts. "I'll give you eight."

"Fifteen."

"Do I look like I have fifteen hundred crowns?"

The man's eyes dart over to the princess, who has fallen into a deep conversation with kite boy. "Yes."

Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and tries to look demanding and powerful. He hasn't really mastered it yet. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. "Eight."

"I've gotta make a living here."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Fine. Twelve."

This is still a stupid number so he marks it as a partial victory. For a moment he considers just grabbing someone else off the street and have them buy it for him. The price would be more reasonable for someone not affiliated with royalty.

"You know," he says, sneaking a look to make sure Blondie hasn't wandered away yet before leaning in and dropping his voice, "if the princess wears jewelry that you made, word will get around. Within a week you'll practically explode with popularity. That's worth knocking off a few hundred. Right, buddy?"

The vendor leans forward too, his voice lowering even further. "And if I were you, I'd consider throwing in a few hundred just so's I keep my mouth shut."

"Why would I care about that?"

"Wouldn't want word getting 'round that you've bought her a ring. Might ruin your big, romantic proposal."

Eugene blinks at him. "Huh?" All his pretenses of being commanding or persuasive die.

The man grins.

"Look, she likes the stupid thing. I want to get it for her. It's not like- I'm- No, no, no."

His grin grows. "Twelve hundred."

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll be back for it." And with that he chases off after Rapunzel wondering how he's going to come up with twelve hundred crowns.

He decides that hocking his belongings is a good solution. He doesn't really have that many belongings and he has even fewer that he's willing to part with, but this doesn't stop him from grabbing some crap, skipping dinner, and heading for the Snuggly Duckling.

Killer raises an eyebrow at him.

"What's with the man purse?"

"It's a satchel. And how much do you think I can get for it?"

The thug takes hold of it, sniffs it, then bites into the strap, causing Eugene to grimace. Does he have any idea where that thing's been?

"Real leather," Killer notes. He fingers at a fraying seem. "Kinda beat up." He peers inside the front pocket. "Got a place for your lipstick."

Eugene rolls his eyes.

"Eight crowns."

"Excuse me?"

The thug shrugs. "Not a lot of people want a man purse."

"It's a _satchel_. Everyone wants one. And this isn't just any satchel. It's _my_ satchel. There's got to be someone out there who wants a piece of Flynn Rider memorabilia."

Killer eyes him skeptically. "Narcissism at its finest."

Eugene grins in a way that most people think is winning.

Killer just finds it annoying.

"I've got whole boat loads of fans. They'd be tripping over themselves, pulling each other's hair to get a hold of this baby."

Killer just raises an eyebrow and taps his long fingers across his crossed arm, drawing attention to a very impressive scar. Eugene thinks about commenting on it, but decides he should just press on.

"Not only is it _mine_ - which really ought to be enough for anyone – but it's also got a history. The Lost Princess' crown was hidden in this rather expansive bag. " He pulls it open with a flourish so Killer can see inside. "Then Blondie stole it after she knocked me unconscious, and blackmailed me into taking her to see the lanterns before she would give it back. So you see, it's really all thanks to this very satchel that she was able to climb down out of her tower, find her way back to her parents, and – most importantly – meet you."

The thug's fingers tap against his arm again.

"I might also mention that she was secretly hiding this thing on her person the entire time. Or most of the time. I'm not really clear on that part. Not real clear on where exactly she hid it where I wouldn't notice. I kind of suspect it was stuffed up her sleeve or something."

"Or in her hair."

Eugene snaps his fingers. "You, my friend, are bursting with bright ideas. Seriously. I'm not being sarcastic. You're one smart guy."

"Shut up, Rider."

"So how much?"

Killer takes the satchel away from him again and inspects it once more. He traces the length of the strap again, as if looking for deficits, but Eugene can tell that he's pausing to chew over his words.

"Maybe I know a guy."

He grins. "Do you?"

"Maybe," Killer says. "Maybe he comes in here every now and then wanting to hear about Flynn Rider. Maybe we feed him some bullshit and send him on his way. Maybe he's wealthy, and maybe his unhealthy fascinations extend to include the lost princess."

When it's put like that it sounds a little creepy.

Eugene narrows his eyes. "How much?"

"Two thousand." Killer shrugs. "Maybe."

"Yeah, maybe. So when will you _maybe_ have my money?"

"Come back next week."

"Good! Want a drink?"

"Not from you."

"Fair enough. See you next week."

A little more than a week later (because Killer is an ass) Eugene gets the money from his satchel, which is a little less than he had been promised (because Killer is an ass), but it's more than he needs so it doesn't really matter. It's only once it's gone that he realizes that he misses the old thing. He doesn't miss it terribly, and he doesn't regret selling one of his few precious possessions, one of the last physical ties to his old life, just so he can get something on a whim for his girlfriend. Maybe it's more like nostalgia, but that's not really it either.

It takes another week for him to find time to go see that jeweler, and then it takes a good ten minutes to assure him that he wanted the little braided ring and not the big assed, fake diamond encrusted necklace with tacky flowers. It takes a while after that to get the price back down to twelve hundred crowns.

"I hung onto this for you for way too long. I didn't know if you were even coming back. I could have sold it four times over for twice as much. You're a penny-pinching thief. That's what this is! Thievery!"

Eugene leans in, coming close to the little man's face while still somehow towering over him. His voice turns threatening. "You really want to see some thievery?"

He makes it all the way back to the castle with a happy spring in his step. The guards around him call it a _stupid_ spring in his step, as he waves to them and comments on what a beautiful afternoon it is. It's not a beautiful afternoon. It's still cold and drab and the sky is still a dreary, cloud covered gray.

Something must be wrong with him. But that's nothing new.

He makes it half way up the broad staircase to the main entrance when it hits him. It hits him so hard that he stops dead on the stairs, making the guards wonder if he's alright and if they should do anything if he's not.

He just bought her jewelry.

He just bought her a ring.

That's not a gift that you just hand someone for no reason.

Especially someone who gets super excited over getting something as lame as a flag for a birthday present. And that was her _birthday_, which was just about the only (and thus biggest) holiday she knew about (the only other being Pascal's birthday, which was an arbitrary date and mostly an excuse to bake a cake.)

Now it's late February. There isn't another holiday for… months. (Actually, Pascal's birthday is a week and four days away, but Eugene doesn't know this and the occasion wouldn't warrant giving any kind of gift to Rapunzel anyway.)

And she's been taking lessons all about proper courtship lately. Didn't she mention something about a ring a few days ago? Did she? He wasn't paying attention. Trying to recall the memory only brings up an image of her giggling while wearing something skimpy.

Yeah, he definitely remembers the something skimpy.

What was he thinking? He even sold his satchel to a creepy stalker. He loved that satchel!

He looks down at the box in his hand.

It came in a box. A little ring box. With a hinge on one side. The kind you get down on one knee and open.

Shit!

Up in his room, he tosses the box into his window seat and slams the top back into place. He glares down at it and makes a firm resolution to quit being such a sucker.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Eugene's eyes snap open as someone desperately shouts his name. She's still above him, her eyes full of fear, but her face is darker now, almost blurry. The pain in his side is excruciating, and he can feel her trying to pry his hand away. He fights her, because if he doesn't keep pressure on it he'll bleed to death.

"Shh. It's alright," she murmurs, her voice quavering in a way that tells him that it is not going to be alright at all. He is going to die.

He is going to die.

And there was something he had to do… something very important… something…

He pulls her down and kisses her with a fiery passion, with everything he has left, with the last air left in his lungs - her first kiss, his last kiss – and he pours so much into it, too much, but he wants her to know. Before he dies he needs her to know.

She pulls back far too soon, and immediately turns back to his hand as if he hadn't done anything at all but distract her momentarily. She grabs his wrist with both hands and pulls.

"Stop it, Eugene. You're going to hurt yourself."

He doesn't know what she means by that, and he drops his eyes to the stab wound in his side.

His hand is clenched unnaturally, his fingers buried in his flesh as if he's trying to hold in the blood and pull the rip back together through physical force. He can feel the dig of his short fingernails against his skin. The image is downright frightening.

In his surprise, she pulls his hand free, and amazingly the pain begins to fade. Aside from a deep bruise that he'll find in the morning, he's unharmed. Holding his hand up to his face, he stares at it in confusion.

There's no blood.

It was a dream.

It was just a dream and he's perfectly safe and everything is alright and…

"Shh." She reaches out to cup his face, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "It's alright. It was just a nightmare. You're alright now."

He stares at her, and she takes his hand again before he can panic. She's gentle with it this time, cradling it against her breast, his palm over her heart. She lowers her head and closes her eyes and takes a deep, calming breath that stutters as she exhales.

He's too shaken to do anything else but stare at her. His blood pounds through the veins of his arm, through his head, the pulse visible through his skin, hammering against his chest so hard it hurts. He bows his own head and closes his eyes and tries to breathe. He concentrates on finding Rapunzel's heartbeat through the adrenaline, pumping so strongly that everything else is hard to hear. He breathes and tries to calm down. He tries to find her again.

They stay like that for a long time, sitting and facing one another with lowered heads and lowered eyes. The panic fades like a wave rolling back into the ocean. The moment clears and he can again distinguish between the memory and the present. He sighs with relief when he can finally feel her steady heartbeat against his palm, a little flutter of something real.

She scoots backwards to lean against the footboard, pulling him along with her to settle his head against her breast. Her heartbeat thrums reassuringly in his ear, and she's so small and soft that he worries about using her as a pillow like this. He might squish her. She pulls his arms around her waist, then rubs his back, running a soothing hand through his hair.

Being this close to her is calming, the feel of her gentle fingers in his hair, the press of her cheek against the top of his head, the way they seem to meld perfectly together.

He inhales the scent of her, releasing a warm gust of breath against her breast, making her breath catch ever so slightly, which brings the ghost of a smile to his face.

"It's unnatural for you to be quiet this long," he says, annoyed that his voice sounds so much like a croak.

"I'm trying to keep myself from singing to you. I don't think you'd like that."

"Yeah. Please don't." If she starts singing, he's going to have the world's most epic panic attack.

"I've been getting better about not saying everything I think." Or singing every time she feels like it.

"I know. But you don't have to filter what you say around me. Talk to me, Goldie. It'll make me feel like a normal person again."

She thinks for a moment as he closes his eyes and tries to sink into her.

"Being held like this used to help me when I had nightmares when I was little. But I was much littler than you are, so I was probably easier to hold."

"I'll bet."

"It used to make me feel safe. Just being held. And I would fall back asleep in the warmth of my hair and the sound of my mother singing…" Her hand freezes mid stroke, and her whole body tenses. He looks up to see her staring, unseeing at the picture of Pascal hung over his bed. "I just realized that- ugg!"

She moves to push him off, but he's already scrambled back. "Yep, that's enough of that."

She presses both her hands against her forehead and groans. "That was one of my good memories! And she was just using me. Oh, she was just using me all the time."

"Here, switch with me." He pats her hip to get her to budge over, but she doesn't.

"No, I'm comforting you."

He doesn't know what to say to that, because she's not really doing a very good job so far, what with bringing up the woman who stabbed him. But telling her this will hurt her feelings.

"And I want to be taller than you," she adds.

He raises an eyebrow.

"What? It doesn't happen very often."

"Alright," he says. He scoots down to use her stomach as a pillow, wrapping one arm around her hips and sliding the other up her thigh under her night dress. He decides that this is significantly different from anything Gothel would ever do and is therefore acceptable. After a moment, she comes to the same conclusion and runs a hand back through his hair.

"I never knew how awful she was before I came here. Now it's like every day I realize some new way she was mean."

"Ignorance is bliss."

She frowns. "Is it?"

He shrugs. "That's how the saying goes."

"Huh." She thinks it over for a moment. "I heard something else like that a few days ago. My oration tutor said, 'What you don't know can't hurt you.'"

"Unless you don't know that there's an alligator in your closet and you walk in and it eats you."

"I think he meant something more figurative. Like how I didn't know about anything outside my tower, so I didn't know what I was missing and I couldn't get upset about it. Or like kissing. I used to be perfectly happy not kissing and now I don't know how I ever survived."

Eugene has to smirk at that one.

"I don't know if ignorance is bliss," she says. "I was content in the tower, but I don't think I was happy. I didn't know what it was to be happy, so I didn't know that I didn't have it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah."

"What about you, were you happy?"

"I thought I was. Now I'm not so sure."

She grins down at him. "Are you happy now? I'm happy now."

"Blondie, I'm ecstatic."

"Good… But what if there's something more. Like some other level of happy that neither of us have thought of yet, and right now we're not really as happy as we could be?" She looks down at him with a hint of anxiety.

"Deep," he says.

"I'm serious."

"I know. But it's not something to really worry about. That's what 'ignorance is bliss' means. If you're always worrying about all the things you don't know, you're going to drive yourself crazy."

"That's true," she says, not sounding convinced.

"Think of it like if you're always chasing something better, all you're really doing is running." He smirks up at her. "And anyway, I think the life you've got is pretty good."

"Of course it is! That's not what I meant. You know I love you and Pascal."

"Me _and Pascal_?"

"Yes." Her voice drops to a whisper, "I think he's listening."

He snorts, because he's used to that joke by now. He plants a kiss against the silk covering her stomach before snuggling deeper against her, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of her leg.

"Are you feeling better yet?" She whispers it as though if the answer is "no" then they can pretend she didn't ask and she can keep talking about something else.

"Much."

"Good." Her shoulders sink in relief and she smiles down at him in a way that makes him feel as though his insides have warmed and then melted to seep down into his stomach. He probably looks like a sappy idiot grinning back at her, but he doesn't really care.

She's just so sweet, and caring, and lovely, and genuine, and… and her skin smells really, really good.

He has this crazy urge to-

"Rapunzel." He props himself up on an elbow before he cuts himself off and clears his throat.

"What's wrong?"

"I- Just let me get this out first, ok?"

She nods, that unsure pucker returning to her eyebrows.

"Ok… ok… I am really happy. Here. With you."

She smiles.

"And I think that this is perfect and I can't really ask for anything more and I really don't want to mess it up."

"You won't."

"I might. You never know."

She has to give him that one.

"Yeah, so I don't want to mess it up. And that's why getting married…"

"…Scares you?"

"I'm not scared."

"Oh."

"No. I just- When people get married they stop trying and then they start hating each other, and the girl starts nagging and the guy stops hiding all his bad habits-"

"That's not true."

"It is of all the married people I know." Which isn't very many people.

"My parents are married. Did you forget about them?"

He had. It's just that they're so peachy all the time and don't constantly complain about each other that they kind of blend into the background of this discussion. Eugene decides that he's not going to let this one counterexample throw off his train of thought.

"Mine weren't," he says.

"Your father was."

"Yeah, to someone else. He was the best husband ever. A fantastic example of wholesome family living." He thinks about throwing in a "hurray!" but then decides that enough sarcasm is enough.

Her response is matter of fact. "You're not going to end up like him, Eugene."

This gives him pause too. Maybe that's the real problem here and he just hasn't thought of it before.

"And I already know all your bad habits. Unless you have more. Do you have more?"

"No. I've got enough as it is."

"And what do you think I'll stop trying to do?"

He's actually not quite sure, because the answers he comes up with don't really make any sense with regards to Rapunzel. Trying to impress him. Trying to look extra pretty. Trying to get in his pants.

"Look," he says, "I'm just trying to explain how I'm… hesitant… about change-"

"Getting married won't really change anything," she says, interrupting him.

His speech is in total chaos now and he doesn't even remember where he was going with this. Where _was_ he going with this? Why did he bring this up? What is wrong with him?

"When you love someone you get married, so you can be together and love each other forever. It's a way to keep things the same, not change them."

"That's a fairy tale, Goldie."

She leans down to look him full in the face. "I have magic tears that bring people I love back to life when I sing. We're kinda past fairy tales now."

They stare at each other, and her face is so funny that he wants to laugh and so serious that he wants to gulp. "You're really not making this easy for me."

"You make it hard on yourself."

"… That's a good point."

"And what am I supposed to be making easy for you anyway?"

"If you'd just let me finish-"

"But I've heard these arguments before."

"Rapunzel."

"And I'm tired."

"Rapunzel."

"And you really scared me with your nightmare and shouting my name in your sleep."

"Rapunzel."

"Why don't we just-"

"Marry me."

"-drop the whole thing and- What?"

"Marry me?"

She stares at him, face completely slack, eyes widening by the moment. He raises an eyebrow at her, which snaps her back into the present, into a moment of desperate exasperation.

"Eugene!" she groans. "That was the worst proposal ever!"

"Get proposed to often?"

"Yes. I've been proposed to three times and this one was the worst. You're lucky I like you."

"_What_? When?"

"And what was all that about us not liking each other?"

"I don't know! It sounded better in my head."

"Oh, Eugene."

"So is this a 'yes' or what? Because it would kind of suck for you to say 'no' after you've been bugging me about it for months, and I got you that stupid ring and everything."

"Ring?"

"Oh! Right!"

A moment later, with the ring box in her hand, the giddy excitement begins to boil up and spread across her face, which was the reaction he'd expected in the first place. She throws her arms around him and kisses him, dozens of little excited kisses all over his face. The cool metal of the ring is in sharp contrast to the warmth of her hand as it presses into his shoulder. He finds himself grinning into a kiss in the moment before they topple over.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

The king, queen, and Eugene look up as Goldie bursts into breakfast the next morning, the only indication that she's lost any sleep being that she's ten minutes late. She beams at them, then dashes forward, skidding to a stop next to Eugene to kiss his cheek before she bounces over to her father.

"Guess what!"

The king raises an amused eyebrow.

"I'm getting married!" She throws her arms out in a grand ta-dah gesture. Then she squeals, throws her arms around her father and somehow manages to bounce up and down while hugging him. The king chuckles and pats her hand, but she's already dancing around his chair to beam at the queen.

As she inhales Blondie draws herself up, tall and thin and shivering with excitement. She balls her hands up against her chest. "Isn't it exciting, mama! Eeee!" She claps her hands together then presses them over her mouth to hold back some small portion of her joy.

Eugene takes a bite of toast. She spent most of the morning before dawn bouncing on his bed, skipping around his room, and listing all the amazing things they could do once they were married.

"You get to have a ring too. Of course yours won't be as nice as mine. Mine's _gorgeous_. Oh, Eugene, it's so pretty!... And then we can sleep in the same room and I won't have to wake up so early and leave, and I won't have to sneak around the guards. Their patrols have changed lately. It's kind of hard to get past them these days."

He's gotten pretty good at just letting her do her thing when she gets this excited, waiting patiently for it to stop without interrupting.

"That's wonderful, dear," the queen says.

"Are you pregnant?" the king asks.

Eugene chokes on his toast.

The queen sighs and her voice turns chiding, "Richard."

"What? It's just a question."

Goldie answers in a dreamy voice with a giggle that is completely inappropriate to how horrifying the moment is. "No."

"Ah." The king turns to Eugene, and asks in a tone of mild concern, "Are you doing something wrong?"

Eugene chokes on his toast again.

"Richard."

"Oh well, maybe someday. That'll be really exciting."

"My getting married's not exciting enough?"

"Honestly?"

Rapunzel nods.

The king shrugs. "I thought you already were married."

"You did not," the queen says.

"Yes, I did. I eventually figured it out. But still, I suppose the thrill isn't as great if you start out thinking something like that. Pass the butter."

Eugene passes the butter.

"Don't listen to him, dear," the queen says, taking Goldie's hand. "He's excited, you can tell. He's just pretending he's not. We're both very happy for you. Both of you."

Rapunzel beams.

She doesn't stop beaming for a good week and a half.

Eugene has only been to one wedding before. The groom was one of his buddies (not a great buddy, but as close as Flynn ever got,) who had knocked up his on-again-off-again girlfriend. The wedding was mostly an excuse for everyone to laugh at the dumb sap as he marched to his doom. That and get really drunk.

It was awesome. But Eugene is under no delusions that his wedding will be anything like that. He does hope that there's booze, but he doesn't hold out a lot of hope. Probably just a bunch of pompousness and a big show for the nobility, that will cost more money than the castle he once wanted. He'll probably have to wear one of those jackets with the high collar that he despises. But after that his imagination dries up. Not that he even wants to think about what kinds of fancy tortures will be involved in a royal wedding.

In short, Eugene has no clue what's coming.

Neither does Rapunzel.

"Can Pascal be my flower girl? He's not a girl, but he's not particular about labels anymore since he got used to Eugene calling him a frog."

"I already have a lot of dresses. Why can't I just wear one of those? Some of them are very nice."

"I know the greatest concert pianist in the world! He can do the music. He'll be so excited when I tell him."

"Can the cake be chocolate? I love chocolate cake. Mmmm. Oh! I know! We can have one layer be chocolate and one layer be red velvet and one layer be… Wait, they do come in layers, right?"

She wants to invite the pub thugs so desperately that the party planning committee eventually caves. It then comes to her attention that she doesn't actually know any of their names, and Eugene has to fill her in (making up a few last names as he goes through the list.) He thinks it's just asking for trouble to invite "Lenard 'Big Nose' Wilson & Guest," but he keeps it to himself.

The party planning committee is frightening, and any leeway he and Rapunzel are given is taken with gusto.

Eugene gives his opinion fairly often in the beginning. This opinion is mostly along the lines of, "No," or "Hell no." They start outright ignoring him, and he then decides that he needs to pick his battles better. He needs to find just the right thing to push on the party planning committee that will disrupt their plans most effectively and still get him something he wants. After much deliberation, he pushes for a particular brand of beer and the release of a bazillion floating lanterns. It helps that Goldie and the queen are behind him one hundred percent on one, and the king's behind him on the other.

Having gotten his way on both of these, he backs down and lets the party planning committee do what they want. As long as he's married by the end of the day, he doesn't care.

The only time in the entire process that they actually ask his opinion is when they ask who his best man is.

"I don't know. Can Pascal do it?"

"Pascal," the committee member says with a distinct tinge of disdain and sarcasm, "already has multiple roles in the ceremony. It would be rude to ask him to bear any more responsibilities."

"Huh. Well, how about Max?"

The party planning committee is not amused. A week later he's informed that Lord Wesley will do the honor of being his best man, and Eugene is shocked to hear that the kid's head didn't explode when he was asked.

After his failure to find himself a best friend who isn't an animal or the person he's marrying, the party planning committee gives up on asking him questions and turns to just telling him things. They burst in as he's being given a lecture on economics and tell him to stand up so they can take his measurements. The worst part of this isn't that he has to strip off several layers of clothes while three people poke at him with measuring tapes in the middle of the library. No, the worst part is that his instructor keeps talking through the whole ordeal.

Then they burst in on a lesson about the inner workings of the judicial system to hold up bolts of cloth to his face and comment on how "this shade makes him look peaky."

And then there's the dancing lessons. The party planning committee has cleared out one of the smaller banquet halls, which is still obscenely large, so that he can practice, and the most renowned dancing instructor to have ever graced the word with his presence, a mediocre pianist, and the queen are all there to watch him screw up. At least Rapunzel's there too. She already knows how to dance and her presence makes him calmer at things like these.

"I don't dance," he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You have to, Eugene," the queen tells him from her seat next to the piano. She doesn't even bother looking up from her book.

Why is it even necessary? Last time he checked, all he had to do was sign some papers and say, "I do." Since when was dancing a requirement for the process?

"I don't dance."

"Yes, you do. I've seen you," Goldie says. She turns to beam at the instructor. "He sings too."

Despite the princess' pride in this fact, the instructor is unimpressed. Dancing is an acceptable manly past time. Singing is not. Eugene scratches at his eyebrow and mutters, "I don't sing either."

This – of course – causes her to burst into song, bobbing up and down to the beat of her own voice and using hand gestures that he vaguely remembers using. God, he must have looked like a fool.

"_I've got dreams like you, no really. Just much less touchy feely. They mainly happen somewhere warm and sunny!_"

"I was threatened into doing that."

"_On an island that I own, tanned and rested and alone_-"

He snatches up her hand, pulls her against his chest, and locks a hand over the small of her back, effectively ending her song. Her eyes widen in surprise – an expression that easily slips into a grin.

He shots her a glare he doesn't really mean, then turns it on the instructor. "It's like this, right?"

Behind him he hears the queen's delicate cough that she uses to cover up her laugh as the instructor adjusts everything about his posture. After a few basic instructions the music starts, and under the cover of a sluggish waltz, Goldie giggles into his ear.

"_Surrounded by enormous piles of money!_"

He pulls her closer, not enough to get him yelled at, but close enough that she can't see his smirk.

One day the party planning committee bursts in during dinner and drags him away so he can try on his outfit. He stands on a little box in front of multiple mirrors while a whole mess of tailors have him step into this and shrug on that and button this up. There's a long line of hooks down the front of his jacket, and suddenly he's very relieved that Goldie knows how to work hooks. He smirks. The best part of this outfit will be taking it off.

He likes the boots though. Those are nice. They don't fit in the way that new boots never fit, and he wonders if he's going to be allowed to break them in. Did you know that you can eat boots if you get really, really hungry? Eugene does. Of course it's always better to try to sell them before you try to eat them. You get more meals out of them that way. And the ones he's wearing right now could buy him something like a hundred meals.

One of the tailors adjusts his baldric, then as one the crowd around him steps backwards and he's able to see himself in the mirrors.

He stares at his reflection.

And he just keeps staring, because damn it, he looks_ good_.

Ok, maybe this outfit isn't so bad.

He swallows and runs a hand over his baldric, fingering the sun medallion resting against his chest. This is what he'll look like when he gets married. Complete with stupid expression. He blinks and realizes that everyone is staring at him and he's not upholding his usual levels of obnoxiousness.

"Can't you do something about this collar?" He tugs at it, but he doesn't think he's fooling anyone.

"No," one tailor snaps, and they're on him again, inserting straight pins into his sleeves and his pants and the back of his jacket for alterations. He holds very still and stares at the only part of himself that he can see: his stupid expression.

As soon as they let him loose, he tracks down Rapunzel and pulls her against him, into a fierce kiss in the middle of the hallway. He doesn't notice if people are watching him. He doesn't care. All he knows is that he feels like he's been kicked in the chest and he's not sure if it's a good feeling or not. He needs her to help him pull himself back together and remind him what the hell is going on.

He closes his eyes and all there is is her, her breath and her mouth, her arms around his shoulders, her waist in his hands. The smell of her, the heat of her, the way she melts against his chest, it all washes over him and after a moment that tightness in his chest dissipates. He lightens his kiss into something more soothing, something more caring and respectful and much less needy.

She sighs as he pulls away, and smiles up at him with eyes so bright it makes him a little giddy. Not that he'll ever admit that.

"Are you freaking out?" she asks.

"No. I'm all done."

"Ok." She gives him a peck, then continues on her way, off to a tea with the ladies from the kingdom's public library system.


	35. Chapter 35

**AN**: Bad news- this chapter got away from me and that's why it was delayed. I'm really sorry. Good news – it became enormous and had to be cut in half. Consider tomorrow's installment a bonus.

**Chapter 35**

The castle is in chaos in the week leading up to the wedding. Every member of the party planning committee looks as though they will either explode or faint and any moment. When they aren't hovering over a dozen servants working in an assembly line to make centerpieces, they're marching down the hall dictating lists of things they've yet to do to a frazzled looking scribe. Or they're having a panic attack in the kitchens because some obscure food item is missing a garnish. Or they're barging in, asking Rapunzel for her opinion, then giving up when she takes too long to decide and barging back out again to worry about it on their own.

Eugene offers to help. Not because he really wants to help, but because everyone is so stressed that it seems like the polite thing to do. Also because he's getting a bit jumpy and would like to have something mindless to do with his hands. Hanging decorations in the courtyard seems like it would do the trick for a few hours.

The party planning committee won't hear of it.

"You should be relaxing, Mr. Fitzherbert."

"I think we have all the help we need," meaning "you're going to screw something up."

"It'll be best if I just do that myself," meaning "I'm too hysterical to even delegate right now."

Eugene finds himself shadowing people, just to keep himself occupied and calm. Whenever he sits alone and unoccupied, he starts getting twitchy and eventually has to go track down Rapunzel anyway. He thinks it's best if he just avoids the tightness in his chest completely, even if that means following her like some kind of lost puppy.

He gets shooed away when it's time for her final veil fitting. What are the chances of a veil not fitting? And what is there to alter if it doesn't? He asks the king about this, because that's who he's attached himself to at the moment.

The king looks up at him from across his desk and a thick pile of paperwork. "Eugene," he says, "calm down."

So Eugene's grateful when Wesley finally shows up. When he's following Wes around it looks like they're hanging out and he looks like less of a loser. And following Wes around is a lot like following Rapunzel around in that they're both overly excited about everything and Eugene can tune out large portions of it.

"Hey, Eugene," Wesley chirps, popping his head into the study where Eugene and Pascal are sitting, working on one of Rapunzel's jigsaw puzzles.

"Hey!" He jumps up to greet his best man and get as far away from the evidence of his boredom as he can. Pascal is great and all, but it sucks to have him as your only companion. "Good to see ya. I'm starting to go craz- What is that?"

"Huh?"

"That." Eugene points to the Wesley's waist. "What is that?"

"Oh!" Wesley beams and pulls the satchel over his shoulder to hold it out for display. "Do you like it? It's an authentic Flynn Rider bag."

"You bought my satchel?"

"Yeah! Well, I bought _a_ satchel. But I know it's not the real thing. You need yours." He looks up at Eugene hesitantly, the squint of his eyes giving away his anxiety. "Right?"

Eugene stares at him, not quite sure where to start with this one. "Ok, first off, you do realize that this is insane, right? Don't be like Flynn Rider. That guy's a jerk and you're starting to weird me out."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"So does this means that this is your satchel?" A certain delicacy sneaks into his voice, as if he's heard something and wants to find out if it's true without flat out asking. It makes Eugene wary.

"Probably."

"And… you sold it at the pub because you needed money?"

Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. "What of it?"

Wesley sighs. "I would have given you money."

"What?"

He shrugs. "I would have."

"God! No!"

"Why not? I mean, you deserve some of it. Like an inheritance or something. I've got more than I need."

"That's the stupidest thing I've heard all day. And I spent the morning watching people polish silver." He was allowed to watch, but not allowed to help.

"Are you in trouble, Eugene? I can help you if you are."

"Just stop."

"I'm worried about you."

"Why? I'm marrying into royalty in three days."

Wes raises an eyebrow. When he does that the resemblance is uncanny.

"I don't want your pity."

"It's not pity."

"I still don't want it. And I don't want an inheritance and I don't want to talk about money right now. Aren't you supposed to be here to make my life easier? You'd better get on that."

"Fine." He pauses a moment before trying one more time. "Do you want your satchel back?"

"No! You bought the stupid thing. It's yours."

"You sure?" He gives Eugene a skeptical look. "Why would you sell it in the first place?"

Eugene shrugs. "I don't need it anymore."

Oddly enough, this seems to satisfy the kid and he takes a seat at the puzzle and starts frowning at it in concentration, absently scratching Pascal's eyebrow.

Eugene takes a seat too and hesitates a moment before asking the real question here. "Just out of curiosity, how much did you pay for it?"

"Three thousand crowns."

"You're kidding."

"No."

"Ugg!" Killer is an ass.

The night before the wedding, Eugene doesn't even attempt to sleep. Instead, he paces around his room problem solving for all the different things that might go wrong the next day. The problems he comes up with include tripping and falling, Rapunzel tripping and falling, the king tripping and falling, over sleeping, over eating, losing Pascal, lighting his floating lantern on fire, the pub thugs lighting their floating lanterns on fire, the thugs lighting other things on fire, and the thugs starting a brawl, bursting into song, and just generally embarrassing him. His solutions are all some variation of finding Goldie and waiting for the whole thing to blow over.

Speaking of which, "Oh, you're up."

He turns to see her standing in his doorway, looking so beautiful that she makes him stop pacing. She makes him forget what he was thinking about. "Can't sleep."

"Me neither. I'm too excited."

He draws her into his arms, bending to capture her lips and draw her up against him. She's light in his arms as she bounces up onto her tiptoes and gently sighs. Her curves press against his chest, supple and soft, her tender lips yield to his caress, her fuzzy robe depresses under his hands.

He pulls away before she can lure him deeper, before the feeling changes form lighthearted joy to smoldering need. He can't pull himself very far, and his lips brush hers as he speaks. "You can't stay tonight."

"I know. I just came to bring you something."

"What's that?"

"Tea!"

She takes her hand from his shoulder to show him the teabag tucked into the palm of her hand.

He raises an eyebrow. "Tea?"

"Everyone's been worrying about your feet getting cold. I think there's supposed to be a cold snap or something this evening. Or maybe there's something wrong with your fireplace, but I don't think that would make a difference because it's spring and it's not very cold out and my fire hasn't been lit for a month. Of course it is colder in your room than it is in mine. Tomorrow we'll both get to sleep there! But anyway, everyone is concerned about you. They don't want you to get the sniffles. The cook said that the tea would help with that. It'll make you warmer too. And it'll help you relax if you're as excited as I am. I'm so excited! But I'm sorry you're not feeling well. Do you think you'll get better soon?"

She presses the back of her hand to his forehead to check his temperature, still holding onto her teabag. He rolls his eyes.

"That's not what…"

He trails off as he looks down at her smiling face. She looks too happy to let her in on exactly how little everyone seems to think of him. And she brought him tea. It's impossible for her to get more adorable.

"That's sweet of you, Goldie."

She beams at him and presses the teabag into his hand, before pulling him into another kiss. He lets this one get away from him, as she rocks against him, and pulls his lower lip between her teeth, and he grows dizzy and warm and intoxicated by the movements of her tongue. The teabag crumples as it's clutched in his fist, all the tiny leaf shavings crunching into dust. He clings to the swell of her hip with his other hand, rumpling her robe to feel the silk beneath and the skin beneath that.

He's cut off just before he lets out a moan when someone knocks. Someone he hates. It doesn't matter who it is.

He considers just ignoring them, but Goldie slips back down off her tiptoes and smiles up at him through her eyelashes. "I shouldn't be here. I'll go back to my room once they leave."

This is not at all what he wants to do, so he steals another quick kiss before agreeing. Giggling softly, she slips into his closet to hide.

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand over his face, then opens the door. In front of him stands the king flanked by Hookhand, Wesley, and a few of the more agreeable guards.

"Uh… hey, guys."

"Hello, Eugene," the king says. "You don't look ready."

"Ready for what?"

Hookhand makes a snorting sound that's as disgusted as it is disgusting. "We're throwing you a party, idiot. Put on a shirt. No one wants to see that."

Eugene crosses his arms over his chest and tries to keep the irritation out of his voice as he addresses the king. "Umm, thanks… really… but it's late, and I kinda have a big day planned tomorrow."

Hookhand snaps at him again. "Don't be a jerk, Rider."

"Yeah, it'll be fun," Wesley says.

"And it's not like you were going to sleep anyway," the king says.

"I really don't think-"

The king makes a small, dismissive gesture and says, "Get him."

Before he has time to react, Hookhand and Wesley sweep forward and grab him by both arms to drag him back into his room to get him ready for his severely unwanted bachelor party. He starts struggling when he realizes that they're headed for his closet, and he manages to knock Wesley loose, but Hookhand is a mountain. He's like a force of nature from which there is no escape. He squeezes his eyes closed in preparation for the oncoming tongue lashings and punches, or ridicule and wolf whistles. There's really no telling which one it will be.

Instead, there's nothing as Hookhand drags him inside and glares around the little room.

"You have too many clothes. It's disgusting."

"More disgusting than the unwashed bear skin you're wearing?" He doesn't know where the comeback comes from. His mind's in panic mode. They're going to find Blondie. And where did she go anyway?

"Shut up, Rider."

"My name's Eugene," he says, shrugging the man off. He glances around surreptitiously, trying to find her hiding spot. Is there a secret tunnel in here or something? It'd be really shitty timing to find that out now.

"I don't care. Hurry up. I'm thirsty."

Eugene grabs a shirt at random and shrugs into it. "You don't care what my name is, but you want to throw me a party."

"Like I said, I'm thirsty."

"And we all know you can't drink without me."

Wesley looks up from inspecting a pair of boots and grins. "It's not a party without you, Eugene."

Hookhand lets out a sarcastic, "Aww," as Eugene snatches up a pair of pants and changes as quickly as possible, stuffing the teabag into his pocket, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, and throwing on a vest without bothering to button it.

"Is this dressed enough for you?"

Wesley hands him his boots.

"Whatever," Hookhand says, giving him a shove to get him moving. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Wesley wave at a dresser as they leave. The dresser reaches out a thin hand and waves back.

They don't have time to go all the way to the Snuggly Duckling and most of the gang is in town anyway for the wedding, so Eugene is dragged to a little pub in town. It's much nicer than most of the pubs he's frequented, not that it's so ritzy as to make him feel underdressed, but the glasses are clean and there are no obvious signs of vermin.

He's paraded over to a table already occupied by Big Nose, Vladimir, Attila and Fang. One of the guards shoves him into a chair, and with everyone else spread out in front of him, looking at him intently, he feels like he's at the head of the circular table. The king takes the chair on his right so that he won't try to get away for fear of being rude. Hookhand takes the seat on his left so that if he does try anything it has only a slim chance of working.

Someone buys him a beer, but he can't tell who it's from. It doesn't taste like piss, which considerably narrows down the suspects, and he takes a guess that it's from Attila.

"Alright, everybody settle down," Vladimir booms over a chorus of groans. His voice is so low and growling that it demands attention even when he's not shouting. "We all know why we're here: to give Rider a good send off."

"More girls for us!"

"Dumbass, there will never be more girls for you."

"Shut up."

"I think," Vladimir rumbles, "that we should all give him… uh, advice or something."

The table reluctantly agrees, because none of them really know what you're supposed to do at a bachelor party except get drunk and buy a lap dance, and the second of these ideas isn't going to happen. They all like Rapunzel and this pub is too nice to host that kind of business and the king is there.

Eugene gives them all a look of burning skepticism. "_You guys_ are going to give me advice?"

"Yes."

"Have any of you even been in a relationship before?"

"I am!" Big Nose shouts, a delighted grin lighting up his hideous features.

Everybody groans.

"Stop talking about her!"

"We don't care!"

"You just made her up anyway!"

"I did not!"

"If you didn't then she has brain damage."

"Or she's blind."

"And has no sense of smell."

"Or taste."

"You dare insult my lady's sensory perceptions?"

"Yeah. Bring it."

The king clears his throat before the first punch is thrown, and as easily as that they all drop it, settling begrudgingly back into their seats, which creak under their weight. Thank God the king is here. He'll keep things within some sort of limits.

Or his presence will make the whole thing ten times more painful. Having his idiot friends give him crude advice in front of his future father-in-law was not high on his list of things to do this evening.

Eugene takes a deep drink of his beer.

"You need to be nice to her," Big Nose says. The table mumbles an agreement. "Like give her compliments and things."

"Especially about things that probably shouldn't be complimented. She probably feels bad about those."

"Like her haircut."

Eugene glares at them. "Watch it."

"Oh come on, it looks awful."

"Yeah, when is that gonna grow out?"

"It's not," Eugene growls. "That's how it'll look forever."

"What?"

"Forever? That's stupid."

"Poor kid."

"Did she cut it herself or something? She does get carried away sometimes."

"I hope she didn't pay someone to make her look like that."

"It looks fine," Eugene snaps. Actually, he thinks it looks more than fine. He still feels a pang of guilt whenever she reaches for hair that isn't there, but the overwhelming attractiveness of the new look generally crushes those thoughts. It's just so grabbable now, like he can fist his hand in it and pull her close and make her look all disheveled.

"There ya' go!" Big Nose says. "That's a good start."

"But how's he going to complement her little-"

"Stop trying to find faults with my girl," Eugene says through clenched teeth.

"Yeah, let's find faults with Big Nose's girl."

"She's stupid."

"And ugly."

"And easy."

"SHUT UP. You haven't even met her. She's lovely and delightful."

"It's not bad that she's easy. Don't want to be in a situation like Rider."

"My name's Eugene."

"That reminds me." Hookhand swivels in his seat to face Eugene. "I've got advice. See, when you fuck her for the first time-"

"Oh God."

"-you need to be careful, 'cuse she's really little."

"Yeah. Don't break her."

"And make sure she's enjoying herself."

"Oh, that's my advice. You see, there's this move you can do where-"

"I don't want to hear it," Eugene says, signaling for another drink.

"It's not that hard to do. I think even you could pull it off."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"It means we hate you."

"Yeah, I can see that."

The advice during his second beer only grows more graphic, with descriptions of how to go slow but still enjoy himself that are so bizarre that he's sure none of them have ever attempted it. (They haven't.) None of them even consider the possibility that Goldie would be anything other than a demure little flower, much less that she's a handful and a half. They don't know that he has a pair of scratches on his shoulder from her fingernails and a bite mark on his abs that haven't quite healed yet from the last time they fooled around. They don't know, and he's definitely not going to let them in on the secret, so most of their advice doesn't apply to him (even if it is good advice for someone else, which he doubts.)

And anyway, where do _they_ get off giving _him_ advice? Idiots.

The thugs and the guards grow more irritated with every passing moment in which Eugene doesn't pull out a pen and start taking notes. Meanwhile, Wesley is following the conversation so intently that he looks like he wishes he had a pen of his own. The king is humming something under his breath, drinking his beer and looking up at the ceiling with a little smile, having gone momentarily deaf.

The realization that the men sitting around the table are somehow, against all odds, actually his friends is an odd one.

After Eugene finishes his beer, he orders a mug of hot water and tosses in the teabag from his pocket with a little plop.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Tea. Goldie gave it to me."

"Ugg. That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"Tea? You've gotta be kidding."

"Tea from your girlfriend? When you could drink… anything else?"

"Shit, Rider. You are so whipped."

He plucks up his mug and gives them a blank look. "My name's Eugene."


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Maybe the party wore him out, or maybe the tea really helped, but for whatever reason Eugene was able to sleep for a while when they returned to the castle. Since he's the only one who doesn't have a hangover in the morning, he's going to attribute it to the tea.

Three valets wake him up to fill the tub in his washroom with hot water. They attempt to be delicate as they explain that he really does need to use soap.

"I know how to use soap," he says.

They look skeptical.

"If you don't do a good job, we'll make you do it again."

"And we'll make sure you do it right."

"And use this soap. It smells like vanilla."

Eugene grumbles. He really doesn't want to smell like vanilla.

After his bath they let him eat breakfast, which is way too heavy for how tight his stomach feels. He eats a half a slice of orange then pushes his bacon around his plate. After a while the valets decide that he's not going to eat anymore and frown at him for wasting their time.

They make him brush his teeth, and at first they seem to think that he can handle it on his own, but then they make him do it a second time. He then has to hold a little minty ball in his mouth for a half hour to make his breath smell nice. It also numbs his tongue. He tries to ask if that's normal, but they snap at him and tell him to keep his mouth shut.

They've decided that he can't wash his hair on his own, so they plop him down and have him lean back into a tub of water while they massage his scalp. He rolls the little minty ball around in his mouth and stays quiet. He starts to wonder if keeping his mouth shut until it dissolves is really necessary or if they just made it up so he'd stop complaining. They rub four different substances into his hair, and he never asks what any of them are or what they're for.

While one valet is busy with his hair, another goes after his fingernails, which is beyond bizarre. They are cut, and buffed, and his cuticles are poked at, and stuff is rubbed against his cuts and different stuff against his calluses. Eugene sincerely hopes they're not going to come after him with nail polish. He'd have to punch someone.

They dry his hair, then spend a very long time combing it. Eugene informs them that his hair style is sexy and if they make him look stupid he's going to kick all their asses. They ignore him and chalk it all up to the fact that he's both nervous and an idiot.

"This is all a bit much. Don't you think?" he asks.

"No."

"Is anyone even going to notice my fingernails?"

"Yes. They're disgusting."

"Are not."

"The princess awoke a full three hours before you for her preparations."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

Eugene has a sudden, strong desire to see her and make sure she's alright after having people prod at her for so long. He tries to run a nervous hand through his hair, but he's promptly shouted at as his hand is snatched away from his head.

Wesley shows up as one of the valets starts sharpening his straight razor.

"Hey, Eugene. How you doing?"

"Peachy."

"Oh, you're not dressed yet. Then I'm taking off my jacket. It's too stuffy."

"Good call."

Wesley gives him a high five and flops down onto the window seat as a valet presses a hot towel to Eugene's face.

"How's Goldie? Do you know?"

"No. They're not going to let me in to see her."

"That's true."

"Do you need anything else? You hungry?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yeah. I don't think I can eat."

"You should try anyway."

"They'll just make me brush my teeth again."

"That's right," the valet says, rubbing warm shaving cream between his hands before plastering it against Eugene's jaw.

Wesley informs him that he looks funny, and Eugene tells him to fuck off.

There's a moment of horror when Eugene suspects that the valet is going to shave off his beard, but it passes and the procedure ends up being the most pleasant part of the day so far. He attributes this mostly to the fact that he now smells like aftershave instead of vanilla, and that makes him feel more manly all the way around.

Everyone wants to help him get dressed, which is weird because he's not a toddler and he's never considered that helping someone get dressed could be a fun pastime. He pulls on his vest undershirt and his white dress shirt, and he's swarmed by people who want to help him with his cuff-links.

He steps into his pants, which are a warm reddish brown with a gold stripe down the outside seam. Someone hands him a leather belt, and he notes that his ass looks really good. He wonders whose idea that was.

Someone helps him shrug into his jacket, then someone else starts on all the hooks running down the front. It's a creamy white color with more gold embroidery around the cuffs of his sleeves and running down his chest to hide the clasps. It's heavy cotton and he's positive that he's going to melt in the heat. Someone hands him a glass of ice water and he takes two gulps before he starts feeling queasy again.

One of his shoulder straps is unbuttoned to attach his baldric, a gold strip of fabric that runs from his right shoulder to his left hip, bearing a metal sun emblem that rests against his chest. Someone refastens his shoulder strap, while someone else snaps the baldric together at his hip. In theory he would attach his sword to this, but he doesn't have a sword, no one wants him to have a sword, and it would mostly just get in the way anyhow.

He pulls on his boots and notes that even though it took five people to get him dressed, Wesley manages to get his jacket on by himself.

And then he has nothing to do. He tries to sit, but he's too anxious and the valets keep giving him dirty looks because he might be wrinkling his clothes. Then he tries pacing, but he can tell that this is making everyone else anxious.

"If you touch your hair again, I will handcuff you to something!" one of the valets shouts.

Eugene stuffs his hands in his pockets, which makes the valet groan as he wrinkles his jacket. Why did they give him pockets if he's not allowed to use them? That's stupid.

After a while, he kicks Wesley off the window seat and pries open his hiding place to get his pocket watch and check what time it is. He has about an hour before the ceremony, and he thinks maybe they should start making their way over there. It is, after all, a full five minute walk.

Wesley tells him to calm down.

Is Rapunzel feeling this anxious? He hopes she's not. He hopes she's still excited and not getting overwhelmed. He hopes she's not so anxious that she faints or has a panic attack and doesn't show up. He'll be standing there in front of hundreds of people as it's announced that she's feeling a bit ill and there's not going to be a wedding after all.

He swallows and checks his watch again.

Wesley tells him to calm down.

Eugene's about to tell him to bite him, when there's a knock on the door, and Eugene assumes that that means it's time to go. But it's not. It's just the queen come to check on him.

"Is Rapunzel ok?"

The queen is very sweet not to laugh at him. "Yes, dear. She's fine. She's going to wear herself out if she keeps going like she is."

Relief sweeps over him, his shoulders sinking, the tension in his jaw seeping away.

"Oh, Eugene, you look so handsome," she says, giving him a hug that he didn't realize he needed. When she pulls away her eyes are a bit teary, which amuses Eugene so much that he makes fun of her. She swats him and leaves.

After a mindless half hour, the valets decide that it's time to leave and they walk way too slowly across the castle to the grand ballroom where the ceremony will take place. Then they wait around some more, this time at the side entrance where Eugene can peak inside at everyone in their finest clothes and most colorful hats. The piano music in the background doesn't cover the murmur of discussion, which fans the nervous tremor in his arms and hardens the knotted ball in his stomach.

"Look at Lord Oliver's outfit," Wesley whispers in an attempt to distract him. "Can you believe anyone would wear something that made them look so…"

"Clown like?"

"I was going to say distracting, but I like yours better."

"Maybe him and Ulf will hit it off."

"Yeah, because Lord Oliver talks enough for three people."

Eugene snickers.

Their discussion of who has the most hideous/scandalous/attention grabbing outfit is interrupted as the pastor comes up behind them and notes that Lady Wendy's gown is ridiculous, with which everyone agrees.

"You ready?" the man says, straightening his stole and tucking his notes under his arms.

Eugene shrugs. "Are you?"

The pastor squeezes his arm and throws open the door to let light from a hundred windows and the murmur from a hundred voices into their dark little hallway. Wes throws him a thumbs up, and Eugene squares his shoulders and marches into the room.

The background music settles as everyone focuses their attention towards the front, toward Eugene. He thinks about waving, but decides against it. He does shoot a grin at the queen, who has a handkerchief tucked into her hand. She tries to glower at him, but she's smiling too broadly.

And then the music starts up again and Eugene watches, his chest tightening as the single bridesmaid appears. It's a girl from the kitchens who he's met a few times, but he can't for the life of him remember her name. She's mostly just there to give Pascal a ride anyway as the chameleon is tucked inside her bouquet. In theory he has both the rings.

The girl smiles at him as she takes her place up front, but he doesn't even notice because Rapunzel's turn is next and he's so excited that his brain feels fuzzy.

The crowd stands as one and Rapunzel appears.

She's resplendent.

And she's beaming. And he's beaming back. And it's like the last few hours of painful anxiety never even happened.

Her dress is the exact same shade of cream as his jacket, decorated with the same swirling gold embroidery, showing off a tantalizing amount of skin. Her veil is long and gold and reminds him so strongly of her blonde hair that it's funny. Under her veil he can just make out that her hair has been braided back and decorated with little, white flowers.

He looks away long enough to shake the king's hand and be pulled in for a hug. And then he's standing with her at his side, where she belongs, and he's holding her hand, and he's lost in her eyes, and he's grinning so madly that his face starts to hurt.

He can't even pay attention to the pastor as he's too busy marveling at how much he loves her and how she is his forever and ever. He repeats what he's told to repeat, but he's not sure he gets all the words right, and he doesn't concentrate enough to know what he's saying. Later he'll hope that he didn't agree to anything weird.

Pascal holds out his tail for him to take Rapunzel's ring. He slips it back onto her finger and she sighs as if she was missing it between the time she gave it to Pascal and now. The chameleon smirks at him, then sticks out his tongue to give Eugene's ring to Rapunzel. She takes it off the tip of his tongue with a giggle and slips it onto Eugene's finger. It's slimy, but he doesn't care as he takes her hand again.

It's announced that he's her husband, and she's his wife, and he should kiss her.

She throws her arms around his neck and grins. For a moment he grins back, then pulls her tight, closes his eyes, and kisses her. And she's breathtaking and beautiful and warm as sunshine. And he loves her more than anything.


	37. Chapter 37

**AN**: Thanks to everyone who gave their support for this story. Y'all are rock stars. It's been a great ride, and a part of me is sad to see it end, but maybe we'll meet again sometime. Cheers - Airplane

**Chapter 37**

Eugene will only remember bits and pieces of the party that follows. The thousands of congratulations blur together, as do the music and toasts. He will remember leading Rapunzel in a dance, but they're holding each other so closely and she's giggling so much that they are basically doing it wrong. The dance instructor would throw a fit. He'll remember dancing with the queen while Rapunzel spins around with her father. He'll remember that the cake is delicious, especially as Rapunzel brushes frosting off his face. He'll remember that Big Nose cries and is comforted by a woman no one has ever seen before, who surprisingly enough looks pretty normal.

But mostly he'll remember how hard it is to keep himself from kissing Rapunzel. Constantly. And repeatedly, and with much more passion than would be appropriate in company.

She snuggles back against him as they release the first of the floating lanterns out in the courtyard. The warm paper bounces off his fingertips and drifts off into the sky, soon followed by a thousand more, and all the little lights reflect in her eyes.

Everyone cheers as they make their exit – cheering mixed with congratulations, mixed with catcalls. He leads her by the hand as they dash back into the castle, and they don't make it very far before they pull up short and fall into each other. He smiles into kisses and she's entwining their fingers together and slipping an arm around his shoulders to draw him closer. They grin at each other, then he kisses her one more time because it's just too hard to stop.

"Come on." Kiss. "We shouldn't stand around-" Kiss. "In the hallway."

"Right." Kiss.

Eugene groans, then squeezes her hand, and she follows him with a giggle.

"You're supposed to carry me," she says.

"What?"

"It's bad luck if I trip in the doorway, so you're supposed to carry me."

"I think we're more likely to fall if I'm carrying you."

"My etiquette instructor said-"

"Ok. Ok."

He turns to lift her up, but she's faster than he is and climbs up onto his back for a piggy-back ride before he can sweep her off her feet. His arms slip under her legs automatically, doing strange things to the skirt on her dress.

He cranes his neck around to give her a sideways look. "I don't think this is what your etiquette instructor had in mind."

Her eyebrows draw together in confusion, and he swoops to peck her cheek before setting off again. She starts planting her own kisses across his cheek and down his neck with a grin, and when she runs into his collar she makes a little noise of protest and starts unclasping his jacket. Once that's done she starts on his dress shirt.

Eugene walks faster.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

He raises an eyebrow at her. "Where do you think we're going?"

"I think we're going to your room, when we should be going to my room." She laughs and corrects herself, "Our room."

He stops because she's absolutely right. He's gotten a bit used to his room and the concept of having her snuggled up in his bed.

"Oops."

He turns on his heel and heads the other direction while Rapunzel nibbles and kisses at his ear. This doesn't really help him keep his balance.

She has to open the door because his hands are full of skirt, and she hops down and doesn't give him time to turn before she hugs him around the middle, resting her head in the hollow between his shoulder blades, sighing because she's had a very long day. Now that she's here alone with him she can finally relax. He can too, and he takes a moment to close his eyes and work the tension out of his shoulder, as if she's draining it all away from him.

"Hi," she murmurs.

"Hey." He drapes his hands over hers and gives her a reassuring squeeze. "How ya' doing?"

"Good. Just tired."

"But not too tired?"

"Hmm. Not too tired."

He turns to wrap her up in his arms. "You look beautiful."

"I know!" She beams and pulls away to spin around, holding her skirt out to the side to give him a better look. "We match. Did you notice?"

"I did." He also noticed how much of her back she's showing off and how she's a good three inches taller in her heels - which he now notices have disappeared.

She blushes from the funny way he's smiling at her, soft and gentle and full of more love than she knows what to do with. She ducks her head to say, "You look good too, you know."

Cupping her face, he tilts it back up so he can look in her eyes and marvel at her flushed and freckled cheeks. "Thanks, Goldie."

Her eyes slip closed as he bends to kiss her, long and slow, without any need to rush, without any need to hesitate or pull back. She's his, and she wants him, and there's no one who can do anything about it. He would have thought that this lack of danger would make the whole thing less exciting, would make it too normal. But instead he feels free. For the first time in his life he feels settled, and he realizes that finding his place like this is really all he ever wanted, all he'll ever need.

She drags his hands to her waist, then around to the clasps on the back of her dress. And he tries to memorize every sensation: the creaminess of her skin against his rough hands, the texture of the embroidery across her dress, the taste of her pink lip stain, the gentle click as each of her clasps come undone.

Her narrow sleeves have sat precariously just off her shoulder all evening, teasing him with the thought that they might slip off at any moment. He pushes one down to uncover the full expanse of her shoulder, a shoulder he's seen a hundred times before, but for some reason has never looked so attractive.

The hooks down the back run all the way down to the curve of her ass, and once they're undone he moves to pull down her dress by the sleeves.

"Wait. It comes off over my head." She grabs her dress by the bust line and pulls, and Eugene tries to help her without knowing exactly which parts of her skirt are supposed to come free and which aren't. After a moment of struggling she reappears again, her hair a bit mussed and her cheeks a bit flushed, letting the mass of lifeless dress flop to the floor while her many layers of delicate, netted petticoats settle back around her.

While he inelegantly kicks off his boots, she slips her hands into his shirt, palms flat against his chest, and pushes both shirt and jacket off his shoulders to meet her dress on the floor.

"They're going to get wrinkled," she says, making no move to pick them up as he kisses her neck and delicately unties the strings on her petticoats.

"You ever gonna wear it again?" His voice is low in her ear, making her tremble, making her drag her hands up his arms, up his shoulders, up into his hair. Her petticoats fall to the floor.

He plants his hands on her hips and leans back to get a look at her, and his eyes widen and his jaw slackens and all he can really think to say is, "Wow," because his sweet, little Rapunzel has officially become the sexiest thing to ever walk the earth. Her corset is laced up the front, decorated with intricate white on white flowers, made of silk soft as air over a firm base that bunches her breasts in a way that makes his fingers itch to let them free. It wouldn't take much as they look fit to burst.

And then there are the stockings – stockings that stretch and strain over the curves of her legs, stockings that could very well be painted on, stockings held up by the most delicate of little ribbons attached to her corset.

The desire in Eugene's chest growls.

"I don't know how it all works," she admits, but he cuts her off with a kiss that's deep and hot as he holds her tight in his arms, just the way she likes, and lifts her clear off the ground to walk a half dozen steps and deposit her on the bed with a little squeak of surprise and approval.

He pulls back enough to peel off his undershirt, and her hands immediately roam over his bare chest, over his abs, awakening nerves he didn't know were asleep. She scoots backwards as he crawls onto the bed, climbing over her as she props herself up on her elbows to meet his lips.

Her leg curls up to rub against his side, looking for contact, looking for a way to get more. And he runs a hand up her stockinged leg, pressing every inch of her against his palm, feeling her shiver under his touch. With several meticulous motions, the little ribbons come undone and he trails his hand back down, peeling back her stocking, letting her leg breathe, letting her warmth seep into his palm. Undressing her is thrilling beyond words, as he strips away layers to find the girl beneath, as his blood pumps faster and a fire lights in his belly and his groin clenches. His fingertips brush over the curve of her ankle, and she presses against him more eagerly.

He wants to take it slow, revel in every sensation, remember every moment. He doesn't want a quick and dirty fuck before someone walks in on them. He wants to make love to her. He wants to make her to feel like a goddess. He wants to rock her world.

Rapunzel doesn't understand this, and considers his slow and teasing movements to be some sort of newly invented torture. She wants him. Now. And he needs to take her or she's going to scream.

She grabs at his belt and in three quick, aggressive flicks she has the buckle undone. With a belt end in either hand, she yanks him down to press against her. Eugene hisses, his face pressed against her neck as he squeezes his eye closed and pants. She rocks her hips against him and whimpers, nuzzling her face into his hair.

He takes off her other stocking a touch more quickly, and moves directly to her corset, kissing on her collarbone, feeling one breast beneath the thick material. She franticly pushes down his pants, but can't reach very far and settles for grabbing his ass, making him buck instinctively against her, making them both gasp at the contact. Never one to back down from an experiment, she repeats the action, and her head lolls back as he jerks against her again.

Her corset comes loose enough for her to feel the whisper of night air against her skin, and for her to pull it over her head, dislodging a few wilting flowers from her hair as it falls to the floor with a muffled thump. A thin arm slips around his neck to pull him down, flush against her, and he can feel her bare skin writhe against him, already showing the first glimmer of sweat.

He holds her tight, one tensed arm firm across her back while the other roams over silky skin. She holds him so close that he can feel the roll and boil of desire in her muscles, in the shortening of her breath, in her kisses that grow more and more reckless. They pull at each other. She tries to drag him down into pure sensation and abandon, heating every vein in his body, making him dizzy. He tries to hold them back, make it last, make it good. It's a struggle they willingly play out with mouths and hands and moans.

She struggles with his pants again, and he pushes himself off of her enough to shimmy out of them while she strips off her underwear. His pants land on the ground with a thunk, and he realizes that that's the sound a fancy watch makes as it hits a hardwood floor. Oops. Oh well.

She kisses him again and he sighs into her, cupping her cheek in his hand, settling over her. He pulls back to look in her eyes, to see her anxiously suck at her swollen lip, to see that underneath it all she's still scared.

"You- You alright?"

She nods, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug and one last comforting kiss.

"Relax," he whispers, and she nods again, rubbing her forehead against his.

He trails a hand down her body, stroking her twitching, shivering skin, not helping her relax as they both wind tighter. He feels between her legs and she presses against him needily as he strokes her, drawing out the wetness of her and coating his fingers before pressing his length against her to send a bone shaking shudder up his spine.

With a steadying hand on her hip, he guides himself into her as carefully as he can. His eyes roll as she tightens around him, and he presses his forehead against her to ground himself for a moment, before he checks on her, his breath barely contained, his body on fire, his eyes clouded with need. She grimaces, and swallows thickly, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He doesn't think he can speak without moaning, so he drops a kiss against her cheek and strokes her hair.

Her voice comes out high pitched and strangled. "I'm- It just- pinches a little."

And then she moves. Just a small shifting of her hips to get more comfortable, but it's perfect, and he finds himself squeezing her tighter and kissing her passionately as he pulls away then back in. She cries out. Then again. And again. Clenching her legs around his waist and groping against his back for some sort of purchase.

There's only the heat of her skin, and the painful buildup of pleasure as she clutches him tight, as she moves beneath him to match his strokes, as she gasps against his ear, sending tremors from his eardrum to his tightening chest. She whimpers in half words and exclamations, her movements becoming more wild, more desperate as she urges him on, as he kisses her neck, as she bites at his shoulder.

Her arms fly up to cover her face, to try to hold herself in as she threatens to burst apart.

And he was absolutely wrong when he thought she couldn't get more beautiful than she was in her wedding dress or in her sexy underwear, because one of his choice swear words falls from her lips, and the thought that he is responsible for teaching her so many dirty things drives his passion to new heights.

He seizes her mouth with his own, gobbling up any new expletives, drinking her in. And the movement of his hips eases into a swirling pattern that has her eyes rolling back as she chants. Yes… yes… yes…

His hands run up and down her sides, trying to draw her closer, because he can feel her body tightening and he can feel the tension growing in a spot inside her as he pounds against it again and again. He can feel all of her and it's breathtakingly, mind-numbingly wonderful.

Her back arches and her head is thrown back, exposing the long, pale column of her neck, which he sucks so passionately it'll leave a mark. Her mouth opens in a silent cry he can feel against his tongue. He tries to keep moving, to make it last for her, but she's clutching him so tightly that it's hard to do without hurting her.

She collapses under him, arms dropped and sprawled over her head, body limp, her chest swelling with every labored breath. He gathers her up and rolls so she can collapse against his chest with a little, dizzy mew of satisfaction. "Eugene…"

He kisses her because he's still hungry and she responds languidly, breaking it off to nuzzle against his jaw line, leaving behind little, teasing kisses.

"Hey," he huffs, "don't you go to sleep yet."

"Mmm?" She runs a hand over his chest, brushing his skin with feather light fingertips, drawing out a tremor of excitement from every taunting stroke, pulling out a groan from deep within his chest that grabs her attention as his hands grip at her back.

With one hand splayed against his chest, she pushes herself up to look into his face, some mixture of curiosity, pleasure, and pride just visible under the sated tint in her eyes. He props himself up on an elbow and takes hold of the base of her skull to draw her closer so she has to meet his burning gaze.

"Don't. Go. To sleep yet." The dark desire in his voice makes her shiver as an aftershock sweeps over her, and she grins deliciously into a ravenous kiss as he adjusts her hips and eases into her again, guiding her into a rhythm that has her alternatively giggling and moaning.

She's naked and gorgeous above him, shamelessly enjoying every sensation, every caress of his hands over her body. He cups her breast and she covers his hand and gasps so he'll squeeze her tighter, so he'll rock into her harder. And with her own brand of wild enthusiasm, she pushes him closer and closer to the edge, she pushes him so he topples over and his vision blurs and there's a pulsing roar that threatens to make his head explode and all his energy is released into her to leave him sprawled against the bed in a tangle of limbs and breath and lazy kisses and murmured declarations of love before falling into the most restful sleep of his life.

In the morning he'll wake with her in his arms as the first rays of sunlight brush across her skin, shining in her hair, illuminating her sleeping face. He'll tuck a loose strand of hair gently back into her braids and pluck up a drooping flower that's come loose during the night. He'll slip it back into its proper place, or at least what he assumes is its proper place. He's not sure, but it looks good enough.

He'll press his lips to the crown of her head before relaxing back into his pillow and closing his eyes with a smile.

With her he's happy. With her he's at peace. And as long as she's by his side he knows…

He's where he's meant to be.


End file.
